Univers
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National Consciousness in Postcolonial Nigerian Children’s Literature
Kirsten Smart
SMRKIR001
A minor dissertation submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the award of the
degree of Master of Arts in Literary Studies
Faculty of the Humanities
University of Cape Town
2016
COMPULSORY DECLARATION
This work has not been previously submitted in whole, or in part, for the award of any degree. It is
my own work. Each significant contribution to, and quotation in, this dissertation from the work, or
works, of other people has been attributed, and has been cited and referenced.
Signature: Date: 1 September 2016
The copyright of this thesis vests in the author. No quotation from it or information derived from it is to be published without full acknowledgement of the source. The thesis is to be used for private study or non-commercial research purposes only.
Published by the University of Cape Town (UCT) in terms of the non-exclusive license granted to UCT by the author.
Univers
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Contents
Acknowledgements ______________________________________________________1
Abstract _______________________________________________________________2
Introduction
The Importance of Children’s Literature ______________________________________3
1.1 A Global Perspective __________________________________________________8
1.2 Children’s Literature in Africa __________________________________________12
1.3 Children’s Literature in Nigeria _________________________________________19
Chapter One
Writer as Teacher in Chinua Achebe’s Books for Children _______________________25
Chapter Two
Writer as ‘Third Parent’ in Mabel Segun’s Children’s Literature __________________________39
Chapter Three
Popularity and Social Realism in Cyprian Ekwensi’s Children’s Literature __________54
Conclusion
Changing Perspectives on Children’s Literature in Africa _______________________71
Works Cited _______________________________________________________________________________________76
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 1
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank my supervisor, Dr Christopher Ouma, for his consistent and invaluable
guidance and encouragement. Additionally, my appreciation goes to Dr Khwezi Mkhize for
facilitating dissertation workshops, providing a warm and dynamic space in which to
formulate and share ideas. I would also like to extend my thanks to Professor Raoul Granqvist
for his words of advice.
I am grateful to the University of Cape Town’s Library Staff, particularly those in Inter-
Library Loans as well as Alexander D’Angelo and Ingrid Thomson, for their interest in my
subject and assistance with acquiring texts.
Thank you to Margarita Sokolovskaya for her immeasurable support (without which this
degree would not have been possible) as well as to my family and friends. To my husband,
Valeri, I am thankful for unceasing support, reassurance and enthusiasm. Lastly, I am grateful
to my son, Alex, who inspired me to begin on this journey and who kept me grounded
throughout.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 2
Abstract
This project highlights the role of locally produced children’s written literature for ages six
to fourteen1 in postcolonial Nigeria as a catalyst for national transformation in the wake of
colonial rule. My objective is to reveal the perceived possibilities and pitfalls contained in
Nigerian children’s literature (specifically books published between 1960 and 1990), for the
promotion of a new national consciousness through the reintegration of traditional values
into a contemporary context. To do this, I draw together children’s literature written by
Chinua Achebe, Cyprian Ekwensi and Mabel Segun in order to illustrate the emphasis
Nigerian children’s book authors writing within the postcolonial moment placed on the
concepts of nation and national identity in the aim to ‘refashion’2 the nation. Following from
this, I examine the role of the child reader in relation to the adult authors’ intentions and
pose the question of what the role of the female is in the authors’ imagining of a ‘new
nation’. The study concludes by reflecting on the persistent under-scrutiny of children’s
literature in Africa by academics and critics, a preconception that still exists today. I move
to suggest further research on the genre not only to stimulate an increased production of
children’s literature more conscious in content and aware of the needs of its young, (male
and female) African readership, but also to incite a change in attitude toward the genre as
one that is as deserving of interest as its adult counterpart.
1The classification for terms such as ‘youth’ and ‘children’ are notoriously ambiguous and vary according to country and institution. The 1989 Convention on the Rights of the Child (CRC) (which Nigeria signed and ratified in 1991) defines ‘children’ as under the age of 18 years (unicef.org). However, for the purposes of this project I use the words ‘child’ or ‘children’ primarily to signify those persons who are between the ages of six and fourteen. Occasionally I use the word ‘youth’ interchangeably with ‘child’ as the United Nations defines ‘youth’ as those between the ages of one and fourteen (“Provisional Guidelines on Standard International Classifications” 3). 2 As described by Emenyonu (Goatskin Bags 241).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 3
Introduction
The Importance of Children’s Literature
This project looks at how three Nigerian authors writing in a postcolonial moment imagined
a necessary shift in national consciousness, beginning with the youngest generation. It takes
into account issues surrounding the authors’ perceptions of their intended readership,
perceptions that appear to subordinate children and overlook the female. This gendered
outlook leads to a troubling, and as yet unasked question of what the role of the female was
in the writers’ imagining of the nation’s future. The authors, Chinua Achebe, Cyprian
Ekwensi and Mabel Segun, are among the most influential writers of English-language
Nigerian children’s (and adult’s) books.3 All three were educated in British-style schools in
colonial Nigeria and were exposed to Western literature as children. Their similarities
extended to their expectations of the role of literature in postcolonial Nigeria. However, they
each held differing viewpoints on their responsibilities as writers and how to go about
achieving a change in national consciousness through children’s books.
Cyprian Ekwensi’s works for children deal with issues adults may classify as uncomfortable
or unsuitable for a child readership, such as physical handicaps (Drummer Boy - 1960),
death (Passport of Mallam Ilia - 1960) and vengeance (An African Night’s Entertainment –
1962). His books are experimental and realistic, aiming to capture the attention and
imagination of the young male and female readers by fostering identification with
characters, settings and situations, thereby further encouraging a thirst for reading. Segun’s
children’s literature is in stark contrast to the provocative nature of Ekwensi’s works. She
believes books for children should act as a ‘third parent’, educating, nurturing, guiding and
protecting the youth. Traditional values and multiculturalism are key themes in Segun’s
Youth Day Parade (1984) and Olu and the Broken Statue (1985), which emphasise unity.
Yet whereas these works are targeted mainly at male readers, her autobiographical My
Father’s Daughter (1965) lends a vital female perspective. The lack of a female viewpoint
is a major pitfall in Chinua Achebe’s nationally conscious children’s works. Like Segun,
3 The authors write for both adults and children in separate literary works, a phenomenon described as ‘crosswriting’ (Beckett 59).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 4
Achebe was concerned with the promotion of national unity and cultural diversity. His
animistic works, The Drum (1977) and How the Leopard Got His Claws (1973), reveal the
importance Achebe placed on traditional values and the mode of storytelling as an
educational tool. His Chike and the River (1966) is more realistic in content, illustrating his
interest in portraying the cultural hybridity of postcolonial Nigeria. Read together, I hope
that this collection of texts will speak to one another as to how their authors believed this
(adult-dominated) project of reimagining a new perception of the nation could be conceived
and re-imagined through children’s literature. In turn, I’d like also to recognise the
problematic gaps contained in the texts, specifically illuminating their representation (or
lack thereof) of women and the consequent implications for their readership.
To begin, I turn to what the key terms ‘postcolonial’ ‘national identity’, ‘national
consciousness’ and ‘imagined communities’ mean in the context of this project. By
‘postcolonial’, I employ Bill Ashcroft, Gareth Griffiths and Helen Tiffin’s understanding of
the term as a phrase describing cultures affected by the “European imperial and hegemonic
expansion from the moment of colonisation till date” (as described in Eze 8). In other words,
it refers to a history of colonial rule4 and the Eurocentric (whereby European culture and
history is viewed as preeminent) legacy it left behind. Postcolonial African literature,
according to Khorana (1998), attempts to incorporate both traditional African and
contemporary Western elements in new fiction and traditional tales (Khorana, Critical
Perspectives 8-9). Where postcolonial theorists have extensively examined the field of
African literature for adults, the genre of postcolonial children’s literature remains largely
overlooked (Bradford 6). Yet it is a particularly fruitful platform from which to examine
children’s literature in Africa as it, like its adult counterpart, grapples with the effects of
colonialism on the nation and national identity. I therefore use the term ‘postcolonial’ as a
discursive practice5 that enables the investigation of the way children’s literature reflects the
experience of colonialism, historically (primarily as a means of instruction) and
contemporarily. I further situate it in relation to the genre’s function in individual and
national identity construction.
‘National identity’, as utilised in my project, is aligned with Margaret Meek’s conception of
the notion, which she defines by separating the words ‘national’, a term that anchors us to a 4 For Nigeria, direct colonial rule began in 1914 when it became a British colony (although Britain had influence over Nigeria via the slave trade for almost a century before this) and ended with independence in 1960. 5 As put forth by Bradford in her 2007 book Unsettling Narratives (9).
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geographical place and the particular history to which it is tied, and ‘identity’ as a construct
that distinguishes ‘us’ from ‘others’ (x). Thus in the context of my paper, Nigerian national
identity refers to a group of people who are linked together by a specific geographical area
(Nigeria) and share a common history. Furthermore, I locate it in a ‘postcolonial’ sense,
whereby the effects of colonial history impact the way national identity is formulated in the
present.
Inextricably connected to national identity (particularly in the postcolonial context) is the
concept of ‘national consciousness’, which refers to the shared view of how people in a
given nation view themselves in relation to others. Both national consciousness and national
identity are linked to the idea of the ‘imagined community’, a term popularised by Benedict
Anderson in Imagined Communities (1983). An imagined (necessarily political) community
is, Anderson proposes, at the root of the definition of ‘nation’, which he views as a
sociocultural construct similar to that of the nation state (Anderson 49). It is imagined
because it links all members of a nation in such a way that, even though they don’t know
one another and may never encounter most of the other members, in the mind of each they
are all linked by common understanding that facilitates shared practices and a common
sense of legitimacy (Anderson 49). The concept of the imagined community plays a role in
my study as the ideas that sustain it are perpetuated by literature6 (particularly children’s
literature due to its socialising aspect) and are eventually internalised by a given society.
The idea of the imagined community is vital then in understanding the way in which
Nigerian national identity was affected by colonial rule and how, in order to rebuild a
unified sense of national identity post-independence, it became necessary to induce a shift in
national consciousness away from a predominantly Eurocentric perspective and toward a
more local, identifiable standpoint.
In an essay entitled “African Literatures as Restoration of Celebration”, Achebe identifies a
fundamental issue with how Nigerian children were being socialised and formulating their
identities through literature. The problem, he indicated, is that English books by Europeans
for European children made up the bulk of the books available to the country’s children.
Achebe saw the primarily Eurocentric literature in Nigeria as a problematic obstacle in the
construction of a healthy national identity. The ‘othering’ of non-Europeans through the
6 Through, for example, inter-textual indications specific to a particular community such as traditional sayings, proverbs, stories or songs.
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proliferation of Western ideals imbued in the literature and disseminated to Nigerians
alienated its African readers, who could not fully identify with the landscapes, values,
dialogues and perspectives presented to them. This led to an estrangement from a national
identity rooted in a history predating colonialism and a consciousness that gradually became
subject to Western ideals.
The issue of how to overcome these problems formed a central point of debate in
symposiums, conferences, newspaper articles and essays on the state of African literature at
the time of Nigeria’s independence. There was a consensus amongst Nigerian officials and
writers: the first step toward healing and moving forward lay in the uncovering, recovering
and rebuilding of the nation’s identity. They agreed that one way toward this goal could be
through literature. African literary critics such as Ernest Emenyonu and Simon Gikandi and
writers like Achebe, Ekwensi and Segun took the idea further. They suggested the most
fertile ground in which to sow the seeds of a new national consciousness is through
literature for children, a genre that was then, and is still now, severely neglected in Africa
(Emenyonu, Goatskin Bags 252).
However underestimated, children’s literature contains socially and politically
transformative potential. It provides a rich and fertile space for writers to ‘imagine’ new
voices, ideas and ways of thinking about entrenched social and cultural norms. It also
creates a space for children to ask questions about and situate themselves within society and
the world, aiding in the formulation of their individual and collective, national identities.
Contemporary children’s literature becomes especially vital, then, in times of seismic
national change (such as a move to independence), when the future of the nation is being re-
imagined.
Nevertheless, the genre is not free from obstacles. Global debates surrounding the role of the
adult in children’s literature, led by the likes of Peter Hunt, Jill May, David Rudd, and
Kimberley Reynolds,7 beg complicated questions of who children’s literature is written for
and whether the adult writer’s responsibility is more restrictive than protective. Interesting
debates by Jacqueline Rose, Perry Nodelman, Lissa Paul and Stephen Slemon and Jo-Ann
7 Here I refer primarily to Peter Hunt’s International Companion Encyclopedia of Children’s Literature (1996) and his Understanding Children’s Literature (1999), May’s Reading and Writing for Understanding: Children’s Literature and Critical Theory (1995), Rudd’s “Theorising and Theories: How Does Children’s Literature Exist?” (1999), and Reynolds’ Radical Children’s Literature: Future Visions and Aesthetic Transformations in Juvenile Fiction (2007).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 7
Wallace,8 around children’s literature as an imperialistic tool used by the adult to ‘colonise’
the child, illuminate the complex layers of the medium.
African children’s literature experiences these challenges, but also contends with the issue
of subverting a Eurocentric view of Africa, writing against the West9 in order to recover its
own place in the world. Yet despite the rich field of study African children’s literature
provides, few have taken critical interest in it. Conversations (published mainly overseas)
dominated by Ernest Emenyonu, Chielozona Eze, Simon Gikandi, Meena Khorana, Raoul
Granqvist and Jürgen Martini10 paint a similar picture to one another, implying that new
research on African children’s literature is flailing. Even less can be found on Nigerian
children’s literature, which is peculiar given the important role it assumed in the
independent nation. The voices of Osayimwense Osa,11 Abiola Odejide12 and Osazee
Fayose,13 demanding that more attention be paid to local literature for children, are barely
heard. Even fainter are the voices of female critics, academics, authors and characters.
The predominance of the struggle against the aftereffects of colonial rule appears to
overshadow the role of women in the independent nation. In Africa in general and Nigeria
specifically, concerns around literacy rates, language, production and distribution impeded
writers’ goals of rebuilding national consciousness and cultural pride. Yet, where the aims
of the writers at the forefront of postcolonial children’s literature may not have been entirely
attained, they did contain key information about common pitfalls, pressing problems and
possible solutions in the postcolonial moment.
8 Here I employ Rose’s The Case of Peter Pan or the Impossibility of Children's Literature (1984), Nodelman’s “Decoding the Images: How Picture Books Work” (1999), Paul’s “Feminism Revisited” (1999) and Slemon and Wallace’s “Into the Heart of Darkness? Teaching Children's Literature as a Problem in Theory” (1991).9 As put forth by Ashcroft et al, 2003. 10 I refer specifically to Emenyonu’s Goatskin Bags and Wisdom: New Critical Perspectives on African Literature (2000), Eze’s Postcolonial Imagination and Moral Representations in African Literature and Culture (2011), Gikandi’s Reading Chinua Achebe: Language and Ideology in Fiction (1991), Khorana’s Critical Perspectives on Postcolonial African Children’s and Young Adult Literature (1998) and Granqvist and Martini’s Preserving the Landscape of Imagination: Children’s Literature in Africa (1997). 11 Specifically Osa’s “Contemporary Nigerian Children's Literature” (1984), “African Children’s and Youth Literature – Then and Now” (2007) and “The Expanding Universe of African Children’s Literature” (2010). 12 See Odejide’s “Visions of Contemporary Society in Nigerian Children’s Realistic Fiction” (1979) and “The Nigerian Children’s Literary Scene: A View From Inside” (1996). 13 Particularly his keynote address at the 2004 IBBY Congress, “Not Only Books for Africa but a Reading Culture Too.”
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1.1. A Global Perspective
In order to understand why authors such as Achebe, Segun and Ekwensi saw children’s
literature as a transformative tool, one must first look at the inner workings of children’s
books. A cross-section of the literature by leading theorists and critics of children’s literature
provides the basis for an insight into the global study of the genre. To solidify an
understanding of how children’s literature functions, I turn to Peter Hunt14 and Jacqueline
Rose.15 Providing a scaffolding of the critical theory of children’s literature are Jill May16
and Kimberley Reynolds,17 and delving into the socialising nature of children’s books is
Jack Zipes.18 I draw on David Rudd to deepen an understanding of the role children’s
literature plays in identity formation19 and Lissa Paul to identify the shifting power
dynamics in children’s literature facilitated by postcolonial theory.20 Where these academics
differ on the pitfalls and solutions surrounding the genre, they unanimously seem to suggest
that children’s literature is a highly complex, underestimated and potentially productive tool
for formation and transformation.
The essential common characteristic of all children’s books, as Hunt (1999) points out, is
that they serve a purpose (Understanding Children’s Literature 10). Some educate and
improve literacy, some entertain, some are better at expanding the imagination, some
instruct on coping with specific problems and some expressly inculcate social, cultural and
moral values. Most, however, do more than just one of these things (Hunt, Understanding
Children’s Literature 10). Whichever purpose a child’s book aims to address, the two
overarching links between them are that, firstly, they attempt to socialise children into the
world and secondly, they are written by adults. On the topic of socialisation, books play a
major role in the formation of a child’s identity. They help to situate the reader individually
as well as in relation to society and are essential for one’s cultural and intellectual
development as they educate, set boundaries, explain moral rights and wrongs and
14 International Companion Encyclopedia of Children’s Literature (1996) and Understanding Children’s Literature (1999). 15 Of particular interest to this project is Rose’s 1984 work on the adult/child power relations in her Impossibility of Children's Literature. 16 Reading and Writing for Understanding: Children’s Literature and Critical Theory (1995). 17 Reynolds also offers an insight into the benefits of a critically unsupervised space in her Radical Children’s Literature: Future Visions and Aesthetic Transformations in Juvenile Fiction (2007). 18 Particularly in his “Second Thoughts on Socialization through Literature for Children” (1981). 19 See Rudd’s “Theorising and Theories: How Does Children’s Literature Exist?” (1999). 20 As drawn from her essay, “Feminism Revisited” (1999).
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encourage what Jill May terms a “civilising process” within the child so that he or she can
eventually grow up to function as a productive citizen (18).
The adult writer of children’s books plays a prominent role in this “civilising process”. He
or she usually has particular ideas about how a child is to be socialised, educated,
entertained and raised either to continue existing social values or to challenge and transform
them. This potentially transformative nature of the genre is linked to the role of children’s
books in the construction of (national and individual) identity, highlighting the function of
the adult author in children’s literature. All three of these aspects of children’s literature (the
transformative potential, its part in identity formulation, and the role of adults) are vital to
my study and hinge on the perception of children as more easily influenced by literature
than adults.
Aside from the perceived impressionableness children offer as an audience, Reynolds (2007)
suggests, another appealing aspect of the genre for authors is that it flies under the radar of
‘serious’ academic critics. The ambivalence academics show toward children’s books (often
seen as a ‘less sophisticated’ form than adult literature) tends paradoxically to work in the
favour of the author. By evading the critical spotlight, the author is able to explore ideas he
or she believes may not “sit comfortably within the literary establishment” (Reynolds 16). In
this way, Reynolds suggests, children’s literature is not merely “capable of preserving and
rejuvenating out-dated or exhausted genres”, but it also contributes to the creation of new
kinds of writing, essentially becoming a “breeding ground and incubator for innovation”
(19).21 Consequently, when considering the transformative potential of children’s literature
and the advantages afforded by hindsight and historical distance, it can often be easier to
identify new discourses, ideas and influences occurring in literature at a specific moment
when looking at texts for children (Reynolds 5).
Having said this, one fundamental issue persists: the role of the adult in children’s literature.
In her book, The Case of Peter Pan: Or the Impossibility of Children’s Fiction (1994),
Jacqueline Rose confronts a central question: to whom is children’s literature really
addressed? Providing Peter Pan as an overarching (though limiting) case study, Rose
describes children’s literature as “impossible” when one looks at the fundamental and
inherent relationship between adult and child in the genre. Rose identifies a “rupture” 21 This potential in children’s literature has gone generally unacknowledged mostly due to the widespread belief that children’s literature simply imitates adult literature (Reynolds 19).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 10
between adult author and child reader, whereby the author attempts to impose on the reader
what he or she “knows” about children, hoping his or her readers will believe him or her and
identify with his or her characters (2). In this way, children’s literature can be seen to
contribute to what Nodelman (1999) and Rose (1984) identified as a “process of
colonisation”, whereby adults write books for children in order to “persuade them of
conceptions of themselves as children that suit adult needs and purposes” (Nodelman,
“Decoding the Images” 135).
Rudd acknowledges this problem, but suggests that far from being solely a construct of adult
discourse, a child is able to formulate an individual identity through the literature created by
adults. He explains that when the fantastical child is imagined, a space is opened up in
which a child can construct their own identity, picking out what is relevant to their reality
(Rudd 16-17). In this way, Rudd asserts, “the ‘constructed child, as tabula rasa – an ‘empty’
being on which society attempts to inscribe a particular identity – becomes the constructive
child” (Rudd 19 and 22).
Where Rose would argue that the distinctly separate relationship between adult author and
child reader is imperative and unavoidable, Hunt and Rudd see it as a problematic power
relation. The adult author controls what children are and are not exposed to and is able to
censor or monitor what children read. This, Hunt suggests, results in the entrenchment of
ideas that children are simple-minded and highly impressionable, leading to the question of
whether this control is a form of protection or restriction – a question that will become
particularly important when I turn to my chapter on Segun (Hunt, Understanding Children’s
Literature 5-6).
Nodelman implies that children’s literature is primarily disempowering due to this power
dynamic. In his 1992 essay, “The Other: Orientalism, Colonialism, and Children’s
Literature”, the scholar takes a strong critical stance on the power relation between the adult
author and the child reader, likening it to that of the West and the Orient, as put forth by
Said in his canonical work, Orientalism (1979). Nodelman asserts that just as Europeans
believed it necessary to describe and analyse the Orient (due to the perception that Orientals
were unable to do so themselves), so too do adults feel the need to describe, analyse and
speak for children.22 Yet by speaking for the other, Nodelman and Said suggest, we are not
22However, as Bradford points out, one main difference problematizing Nodelman’s comparison is that children are seen to eventually become adults, whereas Orientals will never transform into
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 11
only ultimately silencing it, but also confirming and solidifying their difference from and
subordination to ourselves (Nodelman, “The Other” 2). The key to dismantling this power
structure inherent in children’s literature, says Nodelman, is twofold. Firstly, authors should
stop thinking about children as one homogenous ‘other’ group that has the potential to be
‘known’ and secondly, critics of children’s literature can acknowledge and be conscious of
the imperialistic attitude adults have toward children (Nodelman, “The Other” 7).
Lissa Paul builds on the adult author as coloniser / child reader as colonised dialectic, but
suggests the genre of children’s literature is already moving away from this power structure.
She draws on Slemon and Wallace’s article, “Teaching Children's Literature as a Problem in
Theory” (1991). Slemon and Wallace, like Nodelman (1992) and Rose (1984), describe the
adult writer/ child reader relationship as one of coloniser/colonised subject, suggesting that
the adult author of children’s books writes about children as if they are “primitives” and
“subjects-in-formation” (20). Paul asserts that postcolonial discourse is a useful way to
illuminate how authority over the ‘other’ is “innocently” attained, stating “the ideological
assumption is that primitives and children are too naïve (or stupid) to look after themselves,
so need protecting” (124). Yet, Paul claims, the shifts allowed by postcolonial theory (which
moves away from the notion of the ‘blank’ or ‘naïve’ child in need of protection and
instruction) anticipate similar shifts in children’s literature, where appropriateness and
distinct adult/child boundaries begin to fade (124).
We see this shift in boundaries in Segun’s My Father’s Daughter as well as Ekwensi’s books
for children, works that can be classified as ‘crossover literature’. Crossover literature, as
Beckett describes it, is a term used to describe literature (and other forms of media) that
appeals to both adult and child readerships (Beckett 58). I argue that these books are
potentially extremely effective in their intent to fuel the construction of individual and
national identity. This is mainly due to how these texts speak to and not for the child reader.
The texts move away from the adult as coloniser, child as colonised trope and toward a more
egalitarian way of addressing the reader, simultaneously creating a less regulated space in
which child readers can imagine and create their individual identities.
Orientalists; their subordinate status is solidified. Even more problematic for Bradford is Nodelman’s evasion of race, which she indicates is central to the Orientalists’ distinction between “civilised” and “primitive” (7).
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1.2. Children’s Literature in Africa
It is perhaps due to the under-regulated space children’s literature occupies that the medium
is such an effective instrument for imagining a new way of thinking. As I revealed in the
previous section, Reynolds suggests the lack of critical interest in the genre could contribute
to authors’ autonomy to experiment with innovative, transformative ideas, especially at
times of political change. However, the lack of criticism has adverse consequences
extending beyond Reynolds’ optimistic hypothesis. The critical silence on the genre implies
it is beneath the academic gaze, leading to the misconception that children’s literature is
unimportant, subsequently affecting what is published.23 This is an even greater problem in
Africa than in Europe as the former has fewer financial resources and publishing houses.
The result is a circular problem highlighted by Jay Heale: “if so few people buy books, there
is no profit in either writing them or printing them” (947).
The deficiency in research and criticism on African children’s literature is unfortunate to say
the least and it is Emenyonu who voices his disappointment most distinctly. In his recent
edition of African Literature Today (ALT, 2015) dedicated to children’s literature and
storytelling in Africa, Emenyonu is vexed by the critical and academic disinterest in African
children’s literature, describing the response to his call for papers as “abysmally poor”
(303). The research, books and papers that do pertain to African children’s literature are
dominated by the likes of Emenyonu (particularly his Goatskin Bags and Wisdom, 2000),
Gikandi24, Osa,25 Eze and Khorana.26 These books and articles are mainly published in
Europe and the US. They also largely echo one another in their content and concerns,
centring on the effects of Eurocentric children’s literature on African children and the need
to create local, relevant literature that fosters a healthier, more realistic perception of Africa.
23 In a recent interview (June 2016) with Ernest Emenyonu, the author reveals that, after contacting numerous publishing houses, he discovered the genre of children’s literature is “at the bottom of their budget list”. This is due, says Emenyonu, to the persistent misconception that children’s literature is the least lucrative genre. Emenyonu refutes this, claiming that, of all of his published works (including his major critical works), his second children’s book, Uzo and His Father, is currently his highest selling work (Santana and Moellenberg, “Interview: Ernest Emenyonu on African Children’s Literature.” Available at www.africainwords.com). 24 Primarily his Reading Chinua Achebe (1991). 25 Osa has perhaps conducted the most extensive research into changing perspectives on African and Nigerian children’s literature, particularly in his journal articles “Contemporary Nigerian Children's Literature” (1984), “African Children’s and Youth Literature – Then and Now” (2007) and “The Expanding Universe of African Children’s Literature” (2010). 26 Specifically the insights on the postcolonial aspect of African children’s literature provided by Eze’s Postcolonial Imagination (2011) and Khorana’s Critical Perspectives (1998).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 13
However, what is not commonly mentioned is that the struggle to rebuild the African
consciousness through literature has problematized the role of women in the projected image
of a new consciousness. It is here where I intervene with Obioma Nnaemeka’s account of
the female in African oral history, tracking the gradual exclusion of women from oral
storytelling through the increase in a primarily patriarchal literary medium.27 Nnaemeka also
takes a necessary, in-depth look at the role of women in Achebe’s works,28 which I extend to
his children’s literature. I include the voices of Flora Nwapa29 and Segun,30 who each give a
personal account of the experience of being a female writer in Africa and the problems and
pitfalls associated with publishing and distributing in Africa in general and Nigeria
specifically.
The most revealing information I have gathered concerning the history and current state of
children’s literature in Africa has been through interviews (many of which are conducted by
Granqvist and Martini)31 and personal accounts of the older generation of authors, such as
Nwapa, Segun (refer to footnote 29) Achebe32 and Ekwensi.33 In these interviews, the
authors describe their own encounters with the pitfalls of writing, publishing and
distributing their children’s books and their aspirations and suggestions for the future of the
genre. But before we move on to the possible solutions proposed by the authors and critics,
we must first turn to what is seen as the process whereby the African consciousness became
problematically altered.
In his essay “English-Speaking Africa” in Hunt’s International Companion Encyclopedia of
Children’s Literature (1996), Heale broadly divides much of Africa’s history into three
phases: “original identity”, “dominant colonisation”, and “independence” (945). This
framework, according to Heale, can also be applied to African children’s literature, which he
breaks down as “an original oral tradition of storytelling”; the “arrival of literacy and
literature from abroad”; and “the growth (or not) of a new indigenous youth literature” 27 Drawn from Nnaemeka “From Orality to Writing: African Women Writers and the (Re)Inscription of Womanhood” (1994). 28 This refers to Nnaemeka’s “Chinua Achebe: Women, Language and Border (Lines) Lands” (1996). 29 See Nwapa’s “Writing and Publishing for African Children” (1997). 30 See Segun’s “Challenges of Being a Female Writer in a Male-Dominated Developing Society” (2001). 31 Mainly published in their co-edited Preserving the Landscape of Imagination: Children’s Literature in Africa (1997). 32 See Appiah, Athony K. et al. “Interview with Chinua Achebe” (1982) and Cott interview, “Chinua Achebe: At the Crossroads” (1997). 33 See Ekwensi’s interview in Kunapipi (1982), and his essay, “Random Thoughts on Clocking Sixty-five” in The Essential Ekwensi (1987).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 14
(945). Heale traces the history of children’s literature in Africa, from its pre-colonial oral
form (such as folktales, which passed down traditions, culture and the morals and values of
the society) to the indoctrination of Christian values with the arrival of the missionaries.34
The subsequent introduction of European children’s literature to African children altered the
way Africans perceived themselves; the available literature featured landscapes and
concepts foreign to the African child and, explains Gikandi, when this child did encounter
their culture in literary texts; “it did so either as the European idea of Africa or as a sign of
lack” (“Invention of African Culture” 3). Gikandi recognises this as a major catalyst for
destructive consequences for the cultural integrity of those colonised by Western literature,
as it excluded, marginalised and alienated African children. The major concern faced by
African children’s book writers, then, was to produce literature that was relevant to African
children’s’ lived reality.
As I have established, children’s literature acts as an important tool in socialisation and
national identity construction, so it can be seen that the Eurocentricity of the literature
available to children in Africa at the time essentially undermined the construction of healthy
national identities. Carol Fox (2001) reasserts the important process of children’s national
identity formation in her essay on national identity in children’s literature, stating “when
children have sorted themselves out according to name, address, age, and sex, they identify
themselves tribally as belonging to a group with another name” (for example ‘British’ or
‘African’) (31). This identification accounts for other similarities and differences, including
language and skin colour and, according to Fox, the stereotyping of these differences (often
imbued in literature) “penetrate deeply into children’s self-awareness and linger long” (31).
Stereotyping and subordination are still major obstacles in African literature today, both for
adults and children. Bearing in mind what I have mentioned about the formative and
transformative potential children’s literature holds, it seems Gikandi’s description of the
modern African novel as a “borrowed instrument” with which to subvert the dominant
colonial structures and reaffirm and reimagine an African identity falls short when we
34It is important to note that Heale is not the only literary critic to focus on the history of orality and literacy in Africa, which is a well-studied field. Notable contributions to the field are (amongst others) Walter Ong (1982), who shed light on the effects the shift from orality to literacy had on human consciousness, Abiola Irele (1993) and the connection he draws between oral literature and the African imagination, Eileen Julien (1992), who exposes the problematic, polarised view of Africa as primarily oral in contrast to Europe, which is associated with literacy, and Neil Ten Kortenaar (2011) who points to the problematic association of ‘literate’ with ‘civilised’.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 15
consider that he is speaking primarily of novels for adults and not works explicitly for
children (Reading Chinua Achebe 22). His description of the African writer is that of a
“defender of culture” and “custodian of national consciousness”, whose role it is to imagine
“alternative configurations of our ‘real histories’ to either affirm or transcend them” and to
“revise and revert” colonial discourses (Gikandi, Reading Chinua Achebe 7 and 3). The
writer, he emphasises, has the responsibility, to facilitate the “space” created by literature in
which the reader is able to imagine “utopian worlds” that are alternative to the dominant
ideology (Reading Chinua Achebe 22). This space, suggests Sunday O. Anozie, can be
continually recreated, especially in children’s literature, to suit the reality of African
experience (3). It is a space in which the invention and reinvention of African cultures can
occur (Anozie 3).
But children’s literature does not only open up an imaginative or (re-imaginative) space for
the adult writer. As I have illustrated with arguments from Peter Hunt and David Rudd, it
also creates a space in which children are able to imagine their own individual identities, a
space where the “constructed” child can become the “constructive” child (Rudd 16-22 and
Hunt, Understanding Children’s Literature, 5-6). With this in mind, I argue that the
potentially constructive and transformative spaces opened up by children’s literature make
this specific genre the most fruitful place in which to begin to wholly re-conceptualise the
African subject.
As I have shown, the general consensus of critics of African literature is that colonial
literature for children fundamentally undermined the African consciousness. In order to
overcome the damaging effects of Eurocentric books and work toward building a firmer
sense of African identity, writers needed to produce literature for children that was more
relevant in content, local in setting and which reintroduced history and tradition from a less
Eurocentric perspective. Repurposing and reintroducing traditional oral stories and folktales
as a socialising tool was one way in which African writers of children’s books sought to
promote within children a positive sense of national identity, cultural pride and the
reinstallation of traditional values.
Emenyonu and Anozie stress the important role traditional oral literature (the practice of
which has rapidly declined) has played in the formation and situation of a child’s national
identity (Emenyonu, Goatskin Bags 241 and Anozie 7). Oral storytelling has historically
been a means of entertainment, instruction, and preservation of culture as well as an instiller
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 16
of morals and values and a space in which a child could achieve self-actualisation.
Additionally, because these tales are passed down through generations by family members
or members of the community, they are made into common knowledge, becoming an
integral part of a ‘cultural memory’, all of which are important aspects of an ‘imagined
community’ (Sundmark and Kelen 233). But the traditional stories and folktales don’t only
work on a collective level; they also have an inextricable connection to the formation of
individual identity. Storytelling has a similar purpose to literature in that it is a medium for
socialisation, education and entertainment. It helps to situate the listener in relation to others,
to form an opinion, take a side, identify with characters and internalise moral messages and
cultural values. The individual aspect combined with the communal, cultural quality of
folktales and storytelling can therefore be seen to work simultaneously on multiple levels,
indivisibly linking the cultural, the national and the individual.
In his essay on Achebe, Emenyonu applauds Achebe’s consciousness of the malleable
nature of traditional Nigerian folktales, which can be reconstructed, adapted or expanded to
incorporate immediate issues, ideas and concerns. Not only does a ‘good’ children’s book
then, according to Emenyonu, have the potential to instil moral values such as discipline,
loyalty, humility, obedience and social responsibility, it also has the power to stimulate the
imagination, entertain, educate, satiate curiosity and provoke natural creative talents – all of
which are the attributes of a more conscientious, educated, culturally stable and socially
aware citizen (Goatskin Bags 241). However, even though Anozie describes folktales as “a
highly commendable and culturally desirable thing to do”, he cautions against dwelling
solely on the past (7). He insists that whilst “backward integrating”, folktales for children
should also be “forward anticipating”, never ignoring the need for “innovation and change”
(Anozie 7).
It is not just the past and the future that writers need to bear in mind when repurposing
traditional oral stories. Nwapa suggests writers also need an awareness of the current
moment – particularly when considering the changing role of women in African society.
Nwapa argues that the roles traditionally assumed by women are increasingly less applicable
and there is a call for children’s literature to reflect the spectrum of functions women
currently embody (for example the single mothers, the female doctors and career women
who decide not to have children). Slight alterations to customary tales could teach similar
values whilst putting them into a more contemporary context, giving female child readers an
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 17
important point of identification and reducing the proliferation of gender stereotypes
(Nwapa 274-5).
Yet one imperative issue with reviving traditional folktales is the propagation of the
inherently patriarchal world from which they stem. In her essay on “Writing and Publishing
for African Children” (1997), Nwapa acknowledges the importance of continuing oral
traditions in literature, but believes that some of them should be reconsidered given their
patriarchal roots: “one must be very careful in the use of oral tradition. Some African
folktales are sexist in nature”, a point that is particularly relevant when turning to Ekwensi’s
repurposed Hausa folktales (274).
Traditional oral literature was not always primarily patriarchal, argues Obioma Nnaemeka.
In her essay, “From Orality to Writing: African Women Writers and the (Re)Inscription of
Womanhood” (1994), Nnaemeka traces the transition of oral to written literature in Africa
from a feminist perspective. She describes traditional oral literature as a medium that
prominently featured women in visible, important roles. Women had a central role not only
in the creation and preservation of folklore (often transformed or crafted to incorporate
women-centred perspectives) and the reinforcement of value systems, but also often as lead
characters in the stories.
With the introduction of Western literature and literacy (with its typically Eurocentric and
patriarchal viewpoints), the emphasis shifted from competent and creative storytelling to the
importance of literacy and understanding of the language of the coloniser, which contained
specific ideologies and thoughts on the roles of women. The education of men was therefore
prioritised, positioning men in “the world” and women “in the home” (Andrade 13-14). As a
result, Nnaemeka asserts, “women, as speaking subjects, have been transformed into written
objects through the collusion of the imperialistic subject and the patriarchal subject”
(“Orality to Writing” 138). Nnaemeka cites this as a primary cause of the late arrival of
women onto the scene of creative writing in Africa.
After the publication of Nwapa’s Efuru, the number of books written by African women
featuring female main characters steadily grew. Yet even in this literature, asserts
Nnaemeka, the role of the woman is greatly undermined and the strong, radical female
characters are largely marginalised. Most female protagonists end up reaffirming widely
accepted notions of African women’s ‘reality’ by adopting roles that Nnaemeka refers to as
“characters of reaffirmation” (“Orality to Writing” 140). There is a persistent reiteration by
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 18
African authors, including Nwapa, Achebe and Segun that mothers need to put their children
first, and those women who are unable to have children are bound to be unhappy and
unfulfilled (Nnaemeka, “Orality to Writing” 140 and 144). Nnaemeka suggests that perhaps
the reason for the marginalisation of less conformist female characters lies in the self-
consciousness with which African women tend to write. The unease or “nervous condition”
possessed by African women writers reflects an awareness of the primarily male gaze of the
reader or critic (something Reynolds, 2007, might suggest can be circumnavigated by the
lack of critical gaze afforded to children’s literature) (Nnaemeka, “Orality to Writing” 144).
It also highlights the importance of the struggle against imperialism, which overshadows the
inequalities and injustices manifested by the patriarchal structures of their African world
(Nnaemeka, “Orality to Writing” 151). The result is that women writers (and characters) are
overlooked.
Indeed, even children’s books written by African women seem to be less readily available
than those penned by their male counterparts. It is for this reason I initially felt compelled to
address the issue of women in Nigerian literature for children. Whilst searching for my
primary texts, I found it relatively easy to source the literature written by Nigerian male
authors, yet female-written texts were far more difficult to come by, causing me to wonder
how difficult it would have been for the intended readership to obtain texts written by
women. Where were the voices of Nigerian women in children’s literature? What were they
saying? I began to question not only the role of women writers, but also the role of women
characters in Nigerian children’s literature (written by men and women) and the resultant
impact on its (both male and female) readers’ identity formation.
The fact is, it was primarily male authors who penned the books written for Nigerian
children after independence and, even those written by women writers seemed to favour
battling political issues over patriarchal ones. By focusing chiefly on reshaping Africa
outside the shadows of colonialism, neglecting the role of females in a postcolonial society
and reiterating roles of reaffirmation, African writers are seen to ‘refashion’ a consciousness
in literature that continues to neglect, oppress and stereotype African women. Children’s
books that aim to celebrate a new and culturally rooted consciousness do so in a manner that
reiterates the subordinate status of women, often depicting scenes that are not even relevant
to the reader’s reality (Eze 58). As Daniels (2015) suggests, if gender roles are inculcated by
social structures, which are taught through children’s books, then it is through children’s
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 19
literature that one can begin to introduce gender role sensitisation in the hopes that it has a
knock-on effect on society in the future (158).
This is even more crucial when one considers that Africa’s education and literacy rates are
lowest amongst the female population.35 Following from this, I would argue that, when
considering the role of the writer in society, it is especially important for writers to focus on
the restoration of the consciousness of the postcolonial African female simultaneously with
that of the African consciousness in general, something neither Achebe nor Segun appeared
to prioritise in their literature for children.
1.3. Children’s Literature in Nigeria
With this in mind, I turn specifically to Nigerian children’s literature, a genre that has been
paid lamentably insufficient attention. So little can be found on the topic that the majority of
my findings have been sourced from transcripts of conferences and symposiums, from
interviews with authors (who are mainly asked about their adult works), newspaper articles
and fleetingly from journals that are dedicated to wider scopes of study. Osayimwense
Osa36, Odejide37, Fayose38, Segun39 and Nwapa40 dominate the sparse scene of Nigerian
children’s literature criticism in a postcolonial context, primarily reiterating the problems
faced by African children’s literature pre- and post-colonial rule and its effects on a
collective national consciousness. The consensus surrounding the function of the author of
children’s books at the time of independence was that of the rehabilitation of national
consciousness and the recreation of a national identity. The reaffirmation of traditional
morals and values and the ‘re-teaching’ of a history that had been distorted by the lens of
Western imperialism played a major role in this goal. Yet fundamental roadblocks presented
writers with seemingly insurmountable problems, the three most major of which were (and
still are) those of language, literacy and publishing/distribution.
35 UNESCO Institute for Statistics “Adult and Youth Literacy: Global Trends on Gender Parity” 2010.36 Osa’s “Adolescent Literature in Contemporary Nigeria” (1984), and his "Contemporary Nigerian Children's Literature." (1984). 37 Odejide’s “Visions of Contemporary Society in Nigerian Children’s Realistic Fiction” (1979), and “The Nigerian Children’s Literary Scene: A View From Inside” (1996). 38 Fayose’s “Not Only Books for Africa but a Reading Culture Too” (2004). 39 Segun’s “Challenges of Being a Female Writer in a Male-Dominated Developing Society” (2009). 40 Nwapa’s “Writing and Publishing for African Children” (1997).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 20
Following independence, Nigerian scholars and political leaders prioritised the issue of
literacy, putting into place numerous educational structures and programmes41 with the
belief that literacy is an important tool with which to combat poverty, ignorance and disease
and promote national unity. A notable example of the prioritising of literature for the
younger population was Nigerian authors’ involvement in the popular Pacesetters series.42 In
a special issue on the Concept of National Literature (1987) Virginia Coulon describes
Nigerian authors writing for the Pacesetters series as being primarily “concerned with
Nigeria as a nation”, tackling contemporary issues in a way that captures the interest and
imagination of the young adult reader (304-5). Coulon suggests that the intention of the
series for Nigerian authors has been not only to moralise, socialise and encourage an interest
in reading, but also the more “subtle and elevated task” of fostering a “Nigerian national
spirit, a sense of Nigerian patriotism”, contributing to the edification of a national identity
(310-11).43
With such an emphasis placed on producing nation-affirming, local, easily accessible, low-
cost literature for children, it is unsurprising that literacy rates climbed steadily post-
independence, growing from an alarming 15.6% prior to independence, to an estimated44 40-
45% twenty years later. Perhaps the biggest indicator of the importance of children’s
literature in Nigeria at the time can be seen in the largest population of literate Nigerians by
the year 1991 (33%), which was that of the 6-14 year olds, an age group that made up 40%
of the total population (Murtala Akanbi et al 36; CIA, “Nigeria” 2-4). It is therefore
understandable that the issue of igniting within children the desire to read was a central
point of discussion at the 1973 Ife conference on publishing. The general consensus was that
books that were accessible, attractive, relatable and relevant to the lives of children in
Nigeria were of paramount importance in raising literacy rates and strengthening national
identity (Osa, “Adolescent Literature” 289).
41 Yet, despite these initiatives, lack of funding has proven to be a major obstacle in successfully implementing them. 42 An inexpensive and popular paperback series first published by Macmillan in 1977 featuring African authors and targeted at a teenage African readership (Coulon 304).43 Coulon does not ignore the irony associated with the promotion of national literature and nationalism by a multinational publisher (Macmillan) with vested commercial interests. Yet she indicates that it is precisely because of the commercial drive of the publisher that the series is so widely read, a key component in what she terms as “true national literature” (Coulon 317-18). 44 Given that Nigeria still has not conducted a nation-wide literacy survey, the literacy rates are an estimate.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 21
In a keynote address presented at the 2004 IBBY (International Board on Books for Young
People) Congress, Osazee Fayose argued that in order to raise literacy rates, what African
children needed was not only the production of more relevant books, but also the promotion
of a ‘reading culture’. He asserted that, for children in particular, reading is a crucial
instrument for individual identity development, which is aided by the inclusion of
identifiable characters through which children could experience situations vicariously
(Fayose, “Reading Culture” 10). Also important, stressed Fayose, is the potential children’s
books have to alter the way in which children perceive their nation and formulate their
national identity (“Reading Culture” 12).
This way of thinking lead to a sub-genre described by Odejide (1996) as a “rash of ‘issues
books’” written with the express aim of promoting national unity. This sub-genre (which
can be correlated to the rise of the country’s literacy rates), rose up after the Nigerian Civil
War in 1970, at a time that has come to be seen as the “golden age” of children’s book
publishing in Africa (Odejide, “Literary Scene” 72).45 Yet this “rash” of which Segun,
Achebe and Ekwensi were a part, began to subside somewhere in the 1990’s mainly due to
the lack of adequate funding.46 Imported books once again took centre stage, being more
attractive and generally cheaper than locally produced literature.
In her essay “Writing and Publishing for African Children”, Nwapa highlights her personal
experience as a children’s book author writing at the time just following independence: “The
reaction of goods Made-in-Nigeria is negative, even with books. Many nursery schools in
Enugu, where I live and work, for instance, prefer imported books. Perhaps because
imported ones are better produced and cheaper” (271). Nwapa recounts her personal
struggles with the Nigerian Publisher’s Services, which was unable to sell her children’s
books and so preferred to focus on distributing her more popular novels and short stories.
The only way the author was able to disseminate her books was to do the work herself, “I
had to go to Ibadan to physically carry our children’s books back to Enugu” (Nwapa,
“Writing and Publishing” 271).
This underlines a fundamental problem for Nigerian authors of children’s books who cite
imported literature as a contributing factor to the deterioration of the Nigerian consciousness 45 The “golden age” of book publishing for children in Africa is seen to be between the years of 1970 and 1990, when many local African publishing houses were established (Odejide, “Literary Scene” 72). 46 Literacy rates remain a central concern in Nigeria. They currently stand at around 60% (CIA, “Nigeria” 4).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 22
and extol the need for locally produced literature through which to rehabilitate the
consciousness. If locally produced and published literature costs more than international
literature, the problems highlighted by Nigerian authors persist. Additionally, of the books
that are being produced locally, it is generally those that are written in English that are
printed and reprinted, as they are more likely to reach a wider audience. Indeed, most of the
books published and distributed to children in postcolonial Nigeria are written in English.
After the collapse of colonialism, education and book production in Nigeria remained
largely in the medium of English. In a country that speaks over 300 indigenous languages,
English remains the predominantly second language (Nwapa, “Writing and Publishing”
273). Thus for reasons of wider readership (both within and outside of the country) and
economics of publishing and distribution, English-language books dominated the market.
The national identity so carefully being recreated was primarily being formed in English.
Yet, if, as theory teaches us, there can be no discourse without ideology, if we cannot
separate language from the ideologies imbued in that language, then we could also say, as
wa Thiong’o does in Decolonising the Mind, that the ‘new’ Nigerian nation was being built
on the Euro-centric, male-centric values that are inseparable from the English language (16).
By writing in the English language, argues wa Thiong’o, writers are essentially perpetuating
colonial rule. However, Bill Ashcroft would counter that, although language does set certain
restrictions and limitations, those who read or write in a colonial second language don’t
necessarily have to fall victim to the inherent ideologies; “while ideology, discourse or
language constrain subjects, they do not imprison them, nor are subjects immobilised by
power” (Post-Colonial 47). Indeed, as Achebe demonstrated in his novels, language can be
subverted and stretched to reveal an entirely new meaning. He illustrated this in his works
by ‘oralizing’ his written words (a frequently criticised technique); moulding and
repurposing the English language into a pliable, textured material, able to stretch to
accommodate the Igbo proverbs, symbols and metaphors contained within oral traditions.
The result, he hoped, would be “a new English still in full communion with its ancestral
home but altered to suit its new African surroundings” (Achebe, “English” 30).
It is with this in mind that I turn to chapter one, focusing on children’s works by Achebe.
The conscious purpose of Achebe’s children’s literature was to build a framework of
traditional morality and contemporary hybridity in order to help guide Nigerian children
through the transitional period of instability following independence (Dow 164). The author
set out to create literature for the nation’s children that celebrated tolerance, acceptance and
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 23
unity. He aimed to accurately reflect the country’s history in the hopes that the new
generation of Nigerian citizens would have a firmer cultural and moral base, rooted in
tradition. His animistic stories, How the Leopard got His Claws (1973) and The Drum
(1977), are a lesson in history and politics, inherently criticising attributes such as violence
and obsessions with total power while elevating qualities of gratitude, hard work and
resourcefulness. His more widely read Chike and the River (1966), on the other hand,
provides a point of identification for the child reader and addresses issues of traditional
morality in an increasingly globalised Nigeria.
I shift my focus in chapter two from the ‘guiding hand’ present in Achebe’s works toward
Mabel Segun’s more forcefully pervasive presence. Segun, like Achebe and Ekwensi,
acknowledges the ‘rehabilitative’ potential that children’s books hold. Her view on the role
of the writer, however, diverges. Segun likens the responsibility of the children’s book
author to that of a “third parent”, whose obligation toward children is to socialise them and
inculcate moral values with the aim of aiding in the creation of ‘good’ and responsible
citizens (what May refers to as a “civilising process”) (Segun, “Problems and Prospects”
32). Both Youth Day Parade (1984) and Olu and the Broken Statue (1985) teach similar
values of responsibility, hard work and good citizenship whilst also encouraging unity in a
multicultural society. But, where Segun takes a very conscious approach that fosters
collective identity formation, I suggest the restrictive nature of her books means there is less
space for the child readers to formulate and imagine their individual identities. The
exception, however, is seen in her autobiographical children’s book My Father’s Daughter
(1965), which fosters a fruitful space for individual identity construction and, most notably,
provides a rare and necessary female perspective.
The role of the female in Nigerian children’s literature is a theme I carry through to my third
chapter, which focuses on Cyprian Ekwensi’s literature for children. Ekwensi, like Segun
and Achebe, saw the development of the nation and the celebration of its cultural heritage as
something that could be encouraged through literature. This can be seen in his attempt to
reintroduce traditional oral tales, as seen in his Passport of Mallam Ilia (1960) and An
African Night’s Entertainment (1962). However, Ekwensi’s primary concern was to produce
popular literature that reflected reality, with the aim of increasing the nation’s literacy rate
by providing more interesting, relevant and attractive literature for the younger generations.
Ekwensi’s determination to create well-liked literature for children extended to his inclusion
of what might be seen as ‘inappropriate’ themes for young readers such as death, vengeance
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 24
and violence. His portrayal of violence against women as well as female objectification and
dehumanisation is particularly troubling when one considers the influence children’s
literature has on the inculcation and proliferation of negative stereotypes. However, it is
precisely the unconventional and honest nature of Ekwensi’s works that enable them to open
up a highly imaginative and individually constructive space provided by crossover literature
(as defined by Beckett, 2011). This is particularly true of The Drummer Boy (1960), which
provides an entirely new perspective on children with physical handicaps and confronts real
issues faced by Nigerian children at the time. Important also is the book’s emphasis on the
pressure adults placed on children at the time to become the generation that would guide and
reform the nation.
“Literature for children” asserts Zipes, “is the adult author’s symbolically social act intended
to influence and perhaps control the future destiny of culture” (19). It is this view that informs
my process of thought throughout this project, which works to demonstrate the ways in which
Nigeria’s children’s book authors Chinua Achebe, Mabel Segun and Cyprian Ekwensi sought
to influence the national consciousness in the postcolonial moment. I question how the
authors viewed their readership in their aim to fashion children into citizens and, more
specifically, how (if at all) they envisaged their female readership and the role of women in
the newly independent nation. I consider the problems and pitfalls surrounding the adult/child
dynamics of power, the persistent issues of stereotypes, Eurocentricity and the seemingly
disregarded role of the female in what is an otherwise conscious effort on the part of the
authors to encourage the refashioning of the nation in the wake of colonial rule. I go on to
suggest children’s literature that appeals to a cross-generational, gender-inclusive readership
could have the potential to be most effective in its intention to facilitate the simultaneous
construction of both individual and collective national identity in male and female readers.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 25
Chapter 1
Writer as Teacher in Chinua Achebe’s Books for Children
“My work in children’s literature… has not been given the attention it deserves” –Achebe.47
“Children’s literature can bring about change, but will also often be a carrier of stereotypical and conservative ideas”
- Sundmark and Kelen.48
This chapter looks at Chinua Achebe’s works for children. More specifically, it focuses on
his conceptualization of how local Nigerian children’s literature could work to rebuild a
healthy national consciousness in the wake of colonial rule. Crucial to this aim is Achebe’s
view of the role of the writer as a “teacher”49 which, I maintain, he extended to his
children’s literature.50 Achebe used the genre partly as a means to educate his readers on a
shared history predating colonial rule and partly to re-instil traditional morals and values
through reintroducing and repurposing traditional oral folktales. In doing so, he attempted to
create a point of identification for the contemporary Nigerian child, whilst also fostering a
common sense of national responsibility, unity and cultural pride. Achebe was aware of the
socialising, identity formulating, educative functions of children’s literature. Yet in his
conscious quest to affect change in the nation he homogenised his readership, falling short
of providing them with the relatable characters necessary for the healthy construction of
individual identity. Achebe further crucially undermined his intentions by neglecting the
role of the female in his books, in his readership and in his blueprint for a ‘refashioned’
nation.
According to Gikandi, Achebe was one of the first African writers to identify the potential
of the novel not merely to represent reality, but also to “[invent] a new national community”
(Reading Chinua Achebe 3). The role of the novelist, according to Achebe, went beyond
“defender of a culture and the custodian of a national consciousness”, encouraging also “the
47 Raghavacharyulu et al, “Achebe Interviewed” (92). 48 Sundmark and Kelen, “The Nation in Children’s Literature: Nations of Childhood” (4). 49 See Achebe, “Novelist as Teacher” (55-60). 50 A notion also put forth by Miller in “The Novelist as Teacher: Chinua Achebe's Literature for Children” (1981).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 26
creation of an African identity” (Reading Chinua Achebe 7; Appiah et al, emphasis mine).
Thus, Achebe implied, these writers hold the responsibility of not only preservation (of
culture and tradition), but also imaginative invention (of a new national identity).51
As Gikandi suggests, African fiction is able to function as “a formal instrument in the
invention and reinvention of African cultures” primarily because it is a medium that seeks to
conjure into being worlds beyond the realm of reality, “utopian worlds beyond colonial and
neo-colonial reification” (Gikandi, Reading Chinua Achebe 3). While the context of
Gikandi’s argument was centred on Achebe’s works for adults, I suggest his claims have an
even greater impact when applied to the author’s children’s literature, particularly if we take
into account Rudd’s assertion that children’s literature opens up a space through which
alternative ideas and identities can be imagined and constructed (16-17). This is especially
the case when we recall Reynolds’ description of children’s literature as an “incubator for
innovation”, surpassing its capabilities of merely the preservation and rejuvenation of dated
genres (19). Compounded with Reynolds’ view that writers of children’s literature enjoy a
less criticised space in which to explore and experiment, we can see Achebe’s children’s
books provided a fertile breeding ground for the germination of new ideas about the
reinvention of a national identity.
It is clear from Achebe’s essays and interviews on children’s literature that he believed that
the onus is on the genre’s authors to teach, guide, preserve, invent and restore.52 The role of
the child in children’s literature, then, is a passive one: to be taught and guided, shaped and
moulded. The implicit suggestion here is that writers of African children’s books carry the
transcendent duty of inventing an ideal nation and their readership bears the burden of
internalising and putting into practice the author’s imaginings. But despite the restrictive
stance Achebe took in his books, he notably endeavoured to connect with the young reader
by locating his stories in recognizable settings and using familiar language. He strove to
revive (and encourage the preservation of) traditional folktales and the morals they advocate
by making them more applicable to the contemporary Nigerian child. He did this by
blending oral and written literature, the (pre-colonial and colonial) past and the postcolonial
51 As Achebe said in an interview with Jonathan Cott (1997), African children “must now be brought up on a common vocabulary for the heroic and the cowardly, the just and the unjust. Which means preserving and refurbishing the landscape of the imagination and the domain of stories” (192). 52 Especially emphasized in “My Daughters”, an essay featured in The Education of a British-Protected Child (62-66) and his interviews found in Conversations with Chinua Achebe, particularly his interview with Jonathan Cott: “Chinua Achebe: At the Crossroads” (76-88).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 27
present, the rural and urban to connect with a range of Nigerian children. Through this, he
hoped to reveal the possibility of a multidimensional society that is not only firmly grounded
in traditional values, but also a globally independent contender.
From Sundmark and Kelen (2013), we are aware of the link between how a subject
perceives his or her belonging to a particular nation and the formation of his or her
individual identity. Therefore by using national markers particular to Nigeria, such as
traditional folklore and physical setting, Achebe’s children’s books were attempting to
contribute to the simultaneous construction of the readers’ national and individual identities.
Yet, where the nation is threaded throughout Achebe’s works, the individual aspect is
impeded by too few characters with whom the readers could identify. As I have established,
one role of children’s books is to create a space in which the reader can construct his or her
own identity and position him or herself within a society. However, by failing in his
traditional folktales to incorporate enough identifiable child-figures, marginalising the
female (character and reader) and focusing perhaps too intently on the political messages in
his works for children, Achebe may have neglected the individual, widened the gap between
adult author and child reader and amplified gender stereotypes.
Imagining Identities in Storytelling
As described in my introductory chapter, traditional oral tales can play an important role in
identity formation not only on a collective, national level, but also individually. Their
purpose has been to entertain, educate, socialise and inculcate values and morals, providing
an imaginative space bounded by social and cultural norms whereby a community is linked
through shared knowledge. In this way, the individual is able to situate themselves within
and in relation to their community. Achebe was aware of this connection between the
collective and the individual in traditional oral stories and made extensive use of folktales in
his books for children, utilising them as an effective way of binding together national and
individual identity. By taking traditional folktales and storytelling techniques, applying them
to his literature and adapting them to suit a contemporary reader, Achebe not only
encouraged the reader to form an individual identity, but an identity rooted in a nation united
by a common history and shared traditions.
In the aforementioned Cott interview, Achebe lamented the “enormous loss” of traditional
storytelling and advocated for the revival of the characteristic atmosphere that surrounds the
tradition. The stories once told to Nigerian children by their mothers “night after night” are
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 28
now read in books because, as he suggests, the “pace of life has altered” (81). He recognised
that perhaps a revival of the old way of traditional storytelling is unrealistic, but he stood
firm on the need to “make sure that the kind of stories that our children read carry something
of the aura of the tales our mothers and sisters told us” (Cott 81). The author therefore saw it
as essential to demonstrate the possibility of communal unification brought about by oral
storytelling, believing the employment of storytelling techniques in his books was an
effective way of preserving tradition and encouraging a positive sense of national identity.
It is with this in mind that Achebe set about writing How the Leopard Got His Claws and
The Drum, both of which are written in the form of a traditional folktale. Although the tales
take on the shape of traditional folklore, they are adapted slightly to suit a more
contemporary audience, assuming a hybrid structure fluctuating between traditional and
contemporary. Zakes Mda believes this hybridity is a positive step forward in modifying old
tales and reinforcing their relevance, stating that folktales “need not be a reinvention of a
buried pre-colonial national identity, or a mere preservation of folkways and wisdom” (144).
Instead, they can function as a mediator of hybridity due to their capability of being both a
portal into history and a vehicle for looking at current issues (Mda 144). This echoes
Anozie’s claim that folktales teaching children about the past should also be “forward
anticipating”, taking into account current (and potential future) situations (7). This makes
the stories more relevant and interesting to the child reader and maximises their impact on
the readers’ imagining of the future.
Both How the Leopard got His Claws and The Drum are adapted Igbo folktales, narrating
the gradual breakdown of harmonious, communal living and a shift toward cultural
separation and personal isolation. Both stories are set in a world without time and in a place
where animals can talk. Although all of the characters symbolise globally recognisable
attributes and characteristics, they are species specifically native to Africa (leopards,
tortoises and elephants). Additionally the scenery described is of “scorched landscapes,
famine and drought” particular to Africa (Emenyonu, Goatskin Bags 251). How the Leopard
Got His Claws, published just three years after the end of the Nigerian Civil War, is
grounded in relevance geographically and temporally. The tale can be seen as a commentary
on the political and societal upheaval caused by the War. It reflects the injustices, treachery,
fratricide and hypocrisy in the crisis period leading up to the separation of the Eastern region
of Nigeria (later declared the Republic of Biafra) from the rest of the country (Emenyonu,
Goatskin Bags 246). The story revolves around a village of animals, peaceful and happy
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 29
under the rule of their king, Leopard. Leopard has no need for sharp teeth or claws; such is
the sense of unity and peace in the kingdom. Only one member of the village, Dog, is
discontented. One day Dog violently overtakes the kingdom, usurping Leopard. Dog rules
the other animals with brute force, misappropriating their resources and fracturing their
sense of political and cultural unity (characteristics Emenyonu believes to be references to
events surrounding the Nigerian Civil War) (Goatskin Bags 247). Leopard visits the
blacksmith to receive gifts of sharp teeth and claws and goes to “Thunder” to obtain a voice
of thunder. He returns to his village where he attacks Dog, banishing him from the village.
He then orders the animals to dismantle the town hall (a place of gathering and community)
they had worked so hard to build together, effectively disuniting them.
It is disunity, treachery and worship of a false king who ruled with terror that ultimately
leads to the loss of all that the animals had built. The dog is punished for his disloyalty by
being shunned by the animal kingdom and forced to live in servitude to his cruel human
master in return for his protection (Emenyonu, Goatskin Bags 253). Traditional values of
cooperation and unity, trust and loyalty are the main moral lessons one takes away from this
book. Also presented is the lesson that treachery can turn friends into enemies and lead to
discord, punishment and loss of freedom. These themes of disunity and false deification
carry through into another of Achebe’s children’s books, The Drum.
The Drum was Achebe’s final children’s story. It tells the tale of a tortoise with an inflated
sense of importance, who one day stumbles into the spirit world after hungrily chasing a
palm fruit that has fallen into a hole. He is generously given a magical drum that produces
food and drink when beaten. When Tortoise returns to his famine and drought-stricken
village, he uses the drum to feed his village at mealtimes. Tortoise becomes so popular and
the villagers’ debt of food to him so great, that he is to be crowned king. But when Elephant
breaks the drum, Tortoise forces his way back into the spirit world, threatening the spirits
and demanding another, larger drum. This instrument does not produce food, but a swarm of
Spirits armed with whips, punishment for tortoise’s impertinent behaviour. This curse
causes the animals to scatter themselves across the world and, since then, they have “never
stopped running” (Achebe, Drum 59). Through disrespect for the spirit world, arrogance,
dishonesty, greed and false worship, the animals lose their unity, security and freedom.
Both How the Leopard got His Claws and The Drum laud traditional qualities of gratitude,
hard work and resourcefulness, values that lie at the base of tales told in the oral tradition.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 30
As Achebe acknowledged in his interview with Cott: “A tale may be fascinating, amusing-
creating laughter and delight… but at its base is a sustaining morality, and I think this is
very important” (82). This is revealed in Achebe’s works for children, whereby he does not
just entertain his readers whilst teaching them about their history, but also iterates the value
of unity, morality, honesty, hard work and community. He demonstrates to the reader the
corrupting influence of power and greed and encourages them to grow into the kinds of
individuals (and citizens) who have a strong moral foundation rooted in tradition and
supported by the community.
However, if one believes that a major component of a successful story is that it draws the
reader in and encourages identification with the characters, one could wonder just how
‘relatable’ Achebe’s animal characters are. If the emphasis at the time was on writers
producing children’s literature relevant to the experiences of the contemporary Nigerian
child,53 one could argue that the choice of adult, animal characters in a story may prove to
alienate the intended reader. In fact, there are no child characters in How the Leopard Got
His Claws and only one in The Drum, a little boy who lives in the spirit world and is treated
with patronising contempt by Tortoise. Additionally, the boy’s name is never mentioned, but
he is rather referred to as “my boy”, “the boy”, “your boy”, and “stupid boy” (Achebe,
Drum 35, 51 and 52). In this way Achebe, perhaps unintentionally, demonstrates the
powerlessness of children in an adult society. By providing no other character with which a
child-reader can identify, Achebe effectively excludes his readers from the narrative and
further alienates them by giving the impression that a child’s voice is non-consequential.
Not all of Achebe’s books are excluding in this particular way. In his book, Chike and the
River, the main character is a young Nigerian boy, indicating an attempt by the author to
relate to the child-reader. Contemporary in setting and realistic in content, Chike and the
River centres around the main character, eleven year-old Chike, and his quest to cross the
River Niger. Chike is sent by his single, working mother from his rural village to live with
his uncle in Onitsha and attend school there. Chike’s mother warns Chike that the city is an
unsafe place, “Onitsha is a big city, full of dangerous people and kidnappers. Therefore do
not wander about the city. In particular do not go near the River Niger” (Achebe, Chike 9).
Chike does not heed his mother’s advice. He becomes obsessed by the notion of crossing the
river and, once he does, he finds himself in a terrifying situation involving a group of
53As put forth by Osa (1984).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 31
criminals. Chike makes up for disobeying his mother by identifying and reporting the
thieves to the authorities, who reward him for his honesty with a full scholarship. From this
book, one takes away the lessons that education, truthfulness, obedience and respect for
elders are of paramount importance.
Achebe’s emphasis on re-instilling traditional values stemmed from his anxiety to address
what he described in an interview with Ogbaa (1980) as the “disturbance” of African culture
due to moral fissures caused by both internal (African) and external (Western) influences
(67). Published in the same year as his adult novel, A Man of the People, and the year before
the start of the Nigerian Civil (“Biafran”) War, Chike and the River was born at a time
when, as Emenyonu describes, “the Nigerian society and its esteemed values were steadily
tottering towards disorder and disintegration” (Goatskin Bags 241). Unlike his adult novels
Things Fall Apart and A Man of the People, which take a somewhat despairing view of the
decline of Nigerian tradition and morality, Chike and the River presents to its young readers
“an almost idyllic portrayal of independent Nigeria” (Miller 11). In this book, Achebe
addresses the (then) current situation in Nigeria and his perceived need to re-stabilise
“disturbed” traditional values and place them into a modern context (Ogbaa 67).
Achebe was careful to address this nationwide “disturbance” of culture and morals by
incorporating the traditional historical and the contemporary in such a way as not to provoke
anxiety in his child readers. He envisioned stability yet flexibility in the future generations
and threaded these hopes and hybridities into the character of Chike, as Miller explains:
Chike is neither burdened by the conflict between “traditional” and “modern” values, as are many of Achebe’s adult characters, nor degraded by the colonial legacy. Rather he seems to represent the best qualities of a new society poised on the edge of its own destiny. (Miller 14)
Chike therefore represents the collective postcolonial Nigerian child. He is encountering
similar issues and standing at the same crossroads, which is a powerful identifying, almost
stabilising feature for the readers, who were forced to construct their individual identities
whilst their national identity was still in the process of intense transformation. Yet Chike’s
situation is “utopianised” in the way that he is, in the end, unencumbered by familial and
economic pressures (Dow 165). He is on the brink of his future and free to be able to fully
construct himself with the solid moral foundations based in traditional values as well as a
‘good’ (European model of) education that he has undertaken, and will continue to
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 32
undertake, in order to be a productive member of a more global society. Yet also revealed in
Chike is Achebe’s perception of children as a homogenous group of knowable subjects who,
Achebe implies, if they abide by the traditional values set out for them and focus on their
education, can grow into ‘ideal’ citizens, successful in a global sense, but also sensitive to
their cultural roots.
Achebe iterates this sensitivity and respect for village life. While acknowledging the
benefits of ‘modern life’, the author cautions young readers not to disregard their heritage.
For example, Chike is impatient to leave village life to live in Onitsha where water runs
from taps and he can sleep under a roof made of iron and not his mother’s “poor hut of mud
and thatch” (Achebe, Chike 8). But soon after arriving in Onitsha he begins to long “for the
bamboo bed in his mother’s hut” (Achebe, Chike 14). He also dislikes the “crowds” of
“strangers” living in the same house as him, coming to realise that “a big town [is] not
always better than a village” (Achebe, Chike 14).
Achebe also encouraged readers to embrace traditional Igbo values, seeing them as a vital
and stable foundation on which to “refashion” the “New Nigerian” (Emenyonu, Goatskin
Bags 241). This is why we see in his children’s books, a resounding stress on traditional
values such as honesty, discipline, humility, obedience, respect, loyalty and social
responsibility, all attributes that would historically have been conveyed through modes of
storytelling. Hard work (a recurrent theme in Achebe’s children’s books) is another
traditional value woven into the book. The narrative is preoccupied with Chike’s
determination to come into possession of the ferry fare, which he eventually obtains through
honest, hard work. In contrast, Achebe presents Ezekiel, who makes money by deceiving his
English pen pals. Ezekiel’s friends imitate him, but are soon discovered by the headmaster
and consequently punished. The boys are beaten with a cane and publicly humiliated by the
headmaster, who emphasises the connectedness between the individual and the nation by
saying, “Think of the bad name you have given this school… Think of the bad name you
have given Nigeria, your motherland” (Achebe, Chike 19).
The stress on honesty and respect, for oneself, others and the nation is clear throughout the
book, and it is the headmaster who most clearly draws the connection between being a
‘good’ person and a ‘productive’ citizen. However, one notices the headmaster’s views
remain primarily Eurocentric in the way that he most highly values European standards of
intellect and pedigree, inferring European ideals and an education from England are ‘better’
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 33
than African alternatives. This is further compounded by the headmaster’s use of English
when he is attempting to appear more important or ‘sophisticated’. Chike imitates this
behaviour, employing “good English” to convince a driver to let him wash his car (50).
Chike’s polite request, “May I wash your car, sir? It is very dirty and you are going to
Lagos’” is directly contrasted with his fellow car washer’s use of pidgin: “Oga, your car
dorty plenty. I fit wash am fine” (49-50). Aside from the car washer, the only other
characters in the book who are shown speaking pidgin are criminals; implying pidgin is an
undesirable form of communication. Also inferred here is the notion that ‘good’ English is
tantamount to success, as an individual and as a citizen, negating Pidgin and African
languages.
These insinuations of English and England as more valuable than their African alternatives
fundamentally destabilise Achebe’s goal of reaffirming the national consciousness. One
could potentially argue that Achebe is underlining the destructive view of Africa as inferior
to Europe but, as I indicated in my introductory chapter, the boundary between highlighting
the negative impact of stereotypes and (re)enforcing them is often blurred (Fox 43). Thus,
by drawing attention to these Eurocentric ideals, Achebe may have been reiterating these
views in the minds of his readers, further compelling stereotypes that may impede the
national progress he was attempting to encourage.
Females on the Periphery
This same train of thought can be carried through to Achebe’s attitude toward his female
characters (and, consequently, his female readers). The positioning of his fictional women in
stereotypical, restricted roles leads one to a most concerning question: what was the implied
role of the female in Achebe’s imagined, refashioned nation? And what effect might this
inference have had on the female child reader?
In an essay on women in Achebe’s (adult) works, Bicknell (1990) points to the
discrepancies between Achebe’s novels and reality when it comes to gender roles and
gender equality. She asserts that even given the restrictive role women occupied in
traditional Nigerian society, it seems in Achebe’s novels that “women have even less power
than they did in reality” (Bicknell 225). In contrast, posits Bicknell, he does appear to depict
the significant role of men in a realistic fashion (225). This observation can be carried
through to Achebe’s children’s literature, where the powerlessness and subordination of
women in comparison to men is most clearly seen in The Drum. The Drum is similar to
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 34
Things Fall Apart and Arrow of God in that it features communities built around heroism
and patriarchy, where (‘voiceless’) women are relegated to the background, occupying a
narrow, firmly defined role (Nwagbara 344). Written a decade before the publication of
Anthills of the Savannah,54 The Drum features a minimum of female characters, none of
which have speaking roles.
Where female characters are mentioned in the book, they are described in relation to their
husbands. When introducing the main character, Mbe, the narrator claims the story is set in
the past, at a time when there was “only one tortoise, Mbe. The ancestor of all of the
tortoises and his wife, Anum” (Achebe, The Drum 29). Mbe is given the title of “the
ancestor of all the tortoises” where Anum, the bearer of their children (and therefore also an
ancestor), is mentioned as an afterthought, presented as an appendage to her husband. Anum
has no speaking role in the book, and neither does the only other female in the book, the
mother of the boy in the spirit world. When these characters are represented, their husbands
speak for them. In the two instances we encounter the parents of the Spirit boy in The Drum,
the father speaks on behalf of his wife and himself, although both are present. And when
Mbe tells the fabricated story of how he decided to risk his life to save his fellow animals,
he indicates his wife had no say in the decision. Indeed, Mbe did not even tell Anum where
he was going because, he reasons, “I knew she would have tried to stop me” (Achebe, Drum
43). In his next version of the story, Anum “burst into tears” at the news that he was going
to the land of the spirits, reiterating her powerlessness and reinforcing gender stereotypes by
painting her as ‘emotional’ (Achebe, Drum 46). So subordinate is Anum that she does not
even have a say in her permanent departure from their compound. She has no option but to
obey her husband, who forcefully drags her out of their home without explanation: “he took
his wife hurriedly out of the compound through a back exit deep into the bush behind his
compound wall. His wife was so surprised but Tortoise dragged her along” (Achebe, Drum
59).
One could reason that the rationale for representing women thus is due to The Drum being a
traditional folktale set a “long long time ago”, and therefore perhaps these female characters
are being portrayed realistically, given the medium and time period (Achebe, Drum 29).
Alternatively, one might assert that Achebe was attempting to highlight gender inequality by
54 Anthills of the Savannah (1987) was lauded as Achebe’s first novel in which he recognises the need for African societies to include women in the nation-building process (Nwagbara 347-8).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 35
deliberately silencing his female characters. However, Fox’s observation on the blurring of
boundaries between highlighting and reinforcing negative stereotypes would negate these
suggestions, as would the observation that Achebe insisted children’s book authors should
be clear and unambiguous in their works (Fox 43; Cott 83).55 Additionally, not only are
these folktales adapted and repurposed to suit a contemporary (male and female) readership,
but they also provide, as a medium, the experimental space so fruitful for the “construction”
and “imagining” of identity (Rudd 16-17). In light of this, one might suggest that Achebe’s
female characters could have occupied more central roles, if not to ground the tale in a more
realistic, current context then at least as a suggestion of a more equitable future.
The common consensus amongst critics such as Bicknell and Nnaemeka (1996) seems to be
that Achebe has not portrayed a realistic vision of the true (and diverse) roles of women in
Nigeria, instead depicting them “symbolically” (Bicknell 226). Bicknell asserts that there
are three major categories defining the role of women in Achebe’s adult novels, categories I
propose can also be applied to his children’s works. These are: women as “peacemakers”
(who are “moderators of the aggressive impulses of men”), “Mother as Supreme” (respected
because they are mothers, especially if they bear sons),56 and “Woman as Mother” (a
pervasive category, depicting women as protective, nurturing and full of restraint) (Bicknell
266-7; Nwagbara 344).
The last two classifications are particularly prevalent in Achebe’s Chike, though it is
difficult to separate them from the assertion that the figure of the mother is significant in a
child’s life. However it is evident from reading the book that Achebe does at least attempt to
reflect the changing economic empowerment of women (something he does only a decade
later in his adult works). Chike is peppered with strong female characters that (out of
necessity) have taken on the role of breadwinner. Ezekiel’s mother is a successful trader
who sells cloth at the Onitsha market and Chike’s mother is the sole provider for the family,
working “very hard to feed and clothe her three children and send them to school” (Achebe,
Chike 9).
55 In an interview with Cott, Achebe discusses the need to resist subtlety and abstruse messages in children’s literature: “You can’t fool around with children – you have to be honest with language: cleverness won’t do” (83).
56 This is drawn from the philosophy of “nneka”; the idea that women, when all other options have been exhausted, are a source of comfort, providers of nourishment and protection (Bicknell 266-7).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 36
Particularly interesting to note here is the discrepancy between Chike and A Man of the
People, both published in the same year. Where the latter has been criticised for featuring
female characters whose actions “always seem to be tied to their relationships with their
men rather than the result of independent thinking”, the two most prominent women in
Chike appear entirely self-sufficient (Bicknell 268). Yet, even though their independence is
praised, they are still evaluated by their role as mothers. Where Ezekiel’s mother is a good
businesswoman, she is “not a wise mother” (Achebe, Chike 20). She is indulgent with
Ezekiel because he is her only son, repeatedly taking his side over his sisters’ (and
reiterating the perceived importance of boys over girls that Nnaemeka, 1994, speaks of). As
a result of his mother’s permissiveness, Ezekiel becomes a “spoilt child” (Achebe, Chike
19). But not only is Ezekiel’s mother a seemingly neglectful parent, she is also obliquely
portrayed as extravagant and lazy when it comes to fulfilling the traditional role of woman
as ‘housekeeper’, employing three servants “who did all the housework” (Achebe, Chike
20). Ezekiel is exempt from these responsibilities (though his sisters are not) as his mother
claims that housework is “only for servants and for girls” (Achebe, Chike 20).
Although Achebe is insinuating that the stereotyped domesticity of women is an out-dated
line of thinking, he stops short of showing support for gender equality. Why Chike is sent
away to a ‘good’ school while his sisters remain at home is not even questioned and, even
though he is sent to a co-educational school, stereotypical gender roles are still enforced:
“the boys cut the grass in the playing fields and the girls washed the classrooms” (Achebe,
Chike 25). The book is peppered with gender stereotypes, which are particularly apparent
when it comes to displaying emotion. Chike’s mother discourages him from crying when it
comes time for him to leave home, propagating the convention that crying is for babies and
girls when she says to him, “big boys don’t cry”. The idea that displaying sadness or fear is
a feminine attribute is furthered later in the story when Chike is witness to a crime. After
expressing their anxiety about being apprehended by the police, two of the criminals are
accused by their accomplice of possessing a ‘feminine’ quality of fear; “’You people too
fear,’ said the first man, ‘small thing you begin de shake like a woman’” (Achebe, Chike
69).
The fact that the above example is only one of three times the word ‘woman’ is even
mentioned in the book (the plural, ‘women’ is used twice and ‘girl’ or ‘girls’ also only
twice) speaks volumes about Achebe’s gendered message to his intended readership. In
contrast to the sparse use of ‘woman’, the word ‘mother’ is used thirty one times. We must
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 37
certainly bear in mind that the main character is a child, and the mother is a central figure in
a child’s life, yet we must also take note that the only roles occupied by female characters in
the book are either mothers or ‘market women’. This is not a very encouraging message for
girl readers who aspired to be anything other than a mother or a trader in a market.
But perhaps the most obvious sign of exclusion of female readers is that there are no female
lead characters in any of Achebe’s children’s books. Indeed, as in his earlier adult works, his
female characters are relegated to the periphery and are given hardly any speaking roles. The
female child reader has no characters to identify with. She is not ‘taken into’ the book,57 but
remains, like the female characters, on the periphery; a spectator of an adventure targeted at
their male peers. This perpetuates a sense of female subordination and raises major
questions about Achebe’s implicit message on the future of the nation. If Achebe’s intended
readership was to be the first generation of independent Nigerian citizens, the generation
ideally raised with a firmer sense of cultural identity and national pride, why was the author
primarily targeting male children? And what did this mean in relation to the role of women
in the development of the newly independent nation?
Conclusion: Picturing New (Cultural) Memories
The issue of the role of women in Achebe’s blueprint for independent Nigeria is one of the
core problems of his literature for children. The silencing, pigeonholing and marginalisation
of his female characters permeates his books and the consciousness of his readers, not only
reinforcing disempowering gender stereotypes, but also undermining the construction of his
female readers’ individual identities and their role as citizens. But it is not just gender
stereotypes that weaken Achebe’s texts in their aim to reimagine a firmer national
consciousness. The author’s implication that European education is superior to its African
counterpart, particularly in Chike and the River, fundamentally undermines his goal of
encouraging a more positive, less Eurocentric national identity in Nigeria.
Achebe did succeed, however, in addressing the ‘moral decline’ and alienation he witnessed
in the Nigerian nation at the time. He attributed these factors firstly to the lack of
remembrance of a uniquely African history that predated and was partially buried by
colonialism, and secondly to the Eurocentric literature that alienated and negated Nigerian
57 See Rose’s Impossibility of Children’s Literature in which she states: “children’s fiction sets up the child as an outsider to its own process, and then aims, unashamedly, to take the child in” (2).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 38
culture. His answer to these issues was to reteach history and re-inscribe traditional morals
and values through traditional oral stories, repurposing them to make them relevant to the
contemporary Nigerian child reader. Storytelling and its narrative devices, such as oral
traditions and folklore, play a prominent role in Achebe’s children’s books, working to
anchor the individual to the nation through the kind of common cultural knowledge that
sustains an imagined community (as put forth by Sundmark and Kelen). It is through books
like The Drum and How the Leopard got His Claws that traditional folktales meet a real,
lived history. And it is through Chike and the River that we see Achebe’s hand, attempting
to guide his readers toward a path that is complicated, multidimensional and contemporary.
Therefore, when looked at as a collection, Achebe’s children’s books quite clearly
demonstrate his purpose. He incorporated modern and traditional, past and present, rural and
urban, English and Igbo, resulting in a hybridity that reflects the postcolonial political and
societal situation and the lived experiences of the contemporary Nigerian child. The
purpose, then, of Achebe’s children’s literature was to build a framework of traditional
morality and contemporary hybridity in order to help guide children through the transitional
period of instability that followed independence and toward a future populated with
educated, ethical and culturally grounded citizens. We also see the spaces opened up by
Achebe’s works in which the child readers are able to construct their individual identities.
Yet this space is male-shaped; a place for the “constructed” male child to become the
“constructive” male child,58 opening up a transformative area in which the African male
subject can be re-conceptualised. The female subject, however, seems to be staying constant.
She remains the pillar of strength; the peacekeeper and the mother and, most notably, she
remains silent.
58 See Rudd (19-22).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 39
Chapter Two
Writer as “Third Parent” in Mabel Segun’s Children’s Literature
For such a prominent figure in the development of Nigeria’s literary scene,59 surprising little
can be found on Mabel Segun’s works for children. And yet these texts are exemplary of the
post-independent campaign for re-building Nigerian national consciousness. Her books are
postcolonial not just temporally, but also in the way they engage with the history of colonial
rule and its impact on contemporary Nigeria. They encourage in readers an understanding of
this impact and how to move forward with a firmer sense of cultural pride and national
identity. However, in her conscious bid to mould children into citizens, Segun overlooks her
readership as intellectual beings, regarding them as subjects-in-formation. Additionally,
although she notably includes female characters in some of her works, she fails to
deconstruct gender stereotypes, instead proliferating them. The conclusion drawn from this
is that Segun not only stereotypes women in these texts, but she also homogenises children,
pitfalls likewise seen in Achebe’s works.
Both Achebe and Segun take an authoritative position in their construction of children’s
literature. Where Achebe saw the role of authors as “teachers”, Segun contends that the
central task of children’s literature should be to act as a “third parent”: educating, socialising
and helping to “mould” the mind of the reader and “develop his character” (Segun,
“Problems and Prospects” 32). The role then of the author, according to Segun, is one of
responsibility and restriction, a view that can be likened to Hunt’s (1999) notion of the adult
author as a controlling, censoring, monitoring, and protective force.
But for Segun, as for Achebe, children’s literature does not only act as an aid for the
formation of an individual, but the citizen too. As we know from Sundmark and Kelen
(2013), national and individual identity are implicitly linked and the emphasis Segun places
on becoming a productive member of the nation is evident throughout the three children’s
works of hers I have chosen, namely Olu and the Broken Statue (1985), Youth Day Parade
59 In addition to her adult works, Segun has written, co-authored and edited eleven children’s books. She is also the founder of the Children’s Literature Association of Nigeria (CLAN) (established in 1978) and the instigator for Ibadan’s Children’s Documentation and Research Centre (set up in 1990).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 40
(1984), and My Father’s Daughter (1965). In a talk given at the Association of Nigerian
Authors (ANA) in 2009, Segun firmly outlined the categories children’s books fall into,
providing suggestions as to how their contents can develop the nation. The author
pinpointed the promotion of diversity (a consistent theme reflected in her works) as a
significant way to foster unity in a postcolonial nation.
Segun further suggested in this address that books should teach children the benefits of
morality, hard work and self-sacrifice in the name of their country: “children must learn…
people who rise up to challenges are the ones who contribute most to nation building”
(Segun, “Importance of Literature” 3). Similarly to Achebe’s viewpoints on how children’s
literature can work as a catalyst for ‘refashioning’ an independent Nigeria, Segun believes
the genre should impart knowledge about the nation’s history, culture, and traditions.
Furthermore, it should encourage unity through difference and ground the readers’
developing individual identities in their national and cultural identities.
Fundamental to instilling these qualities into a child’s mind, Segun advocates, is the creation
of realistic characters and role models to whom the readers can relate (Segun, “Importance
of Literature” 3-7). Yet in her determination to educate and guide the reader toward national
cohesiveness, Segun could have been isolating them through the distinct boundaries she
draws between the adult (author and character) and the child (reader and character).
Moreover although, unlike Achebe, Segun does include identifiable and prominent female
characters in her works, she (like Achebe) tends to stereotype gender roles, problematically
carrying them forward in her attempt to shape the nation’s future.
(Re)Building Blocks of History, Tradition and Morality
Segun is aware of the prejudices books can pass on to their readers. Conversely, she is also
conscious of the power books have to dispel out-dated or false notions, acknowledging the
nationally “unifying role” that books can possess (Segun, “Importance of Literature” 12-13).
Just as stories are passed down and circulated orally in a community, books have the
potential to be widely read and their stories absorbed into cultural ‘common knowledge’. In
this way they become a binding agent for the imagined community (Sundmark and Kelen
233). The passing down of history and traditions through children’s literature is a vital part
of the “unifying role” the genre can play in restructuring the nation. Segun makes it clear in
her ANA address that encouraging children to rediscover their cultural heritage and establish
their cultural identity is one of the most important tasks an author of children’s books should
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 41
undertake, especially in countries that have been subject to cultural imperialism (Segun,
“Importance of Literature” 12-13).
Like Sundmark and Kelen, Segun draws the connection between cultural and historical
identity formation and the construction of individual identity, asserting that an individual’s
identity is rooted in their history. She emphasises that every individual “needs to have a
personal identity, a point of reference from which he can operate” and this point of
reference, she asserts, stems from their “roots” which “lie in the past and the past is history”
(Segun, “Importance of Literature” 4). Children’s books, Segun claims, are highly effective
tools with which to “lead a child back to his roots”, educating him about his nation’s history
and helping him to situate himself in relation to his shared past (“Importance of Literature”
12-13). Part of this shared past, Segun emphasises, is colonialism.
The author frequently demonstrates the destructive effects of colonial rule in her works.
Nowhere is it clearer, though, than in Olu and the Broken Statue.60 By using historically
accurate examples, she educates readers on the destructive effect colonial rule had on the
integrity of Nigerian history and its obstruction of continuing traditions. For instance, in the
book, it is announced during a news radio broadcast that the government had passed a law
prohibiting the exportation of antiquities.61 The newscaster goes on to explain that the law
was made because “many of the country’s ancient and valuable Benin bronze carvings had
been looted by the British during the Benin Expedition of 1897” and the attempts by the
government to retrieve these artworks from museums all over the world had been
unsuccessful (Segun, Olu 51). This kind of factual example teaches the Nigerian reader
about the importance of their heritage and the damaging effect colonialism had, and still has,
on the nation. Additionally, it implies an interconnectedness of the individual and their
shared national history.
This interconnectedness is reiterated when the main character, Olu, and his friends are made
aware of how their individual interests in music intertwine with their shared ancestry after
being shown around the museum’s instrument collection. The guide assumes correctly that 60 Olu and the Broken Statue (1985) is the story of three friends, Olu, Aigbe and Ikem who are trying to raise money to buy instruments for their school’s band. When they stumble across an ancient artefact (a bronze statue) worth a fortune, the boys choose to turn the statue over to the museum instead of illegally profiting from it. 61 This refers to the Nigerian Prohibition Law on the non-exportation of antiquities in the government decrees of 1974 and 1979 (as according to the International Council of Museums).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 42
when the boys call to mind musical instruments they are thinking of “European musical
instruments” (Segun, Olu 60). He makes a point of educating the children on the diverse
array of traditional Nigerian instruments; the Yoruba sekere (rattle), gangan, bata and
dundun drums, the Igbo Ubo and split drums, Hausa fiddles and flutes, xylophones from
Plateau State, and “gongs from the Cross River State” (Segun, Olu 61-2).
The cultural diversity of the instruments hints at the author’s determination to educate
children on the multiplicity of cultures and traditions in their nation. The guide’s suggestion
that the boys form a traditional Nigerian orchestra implies the possibility that unity and
harmony can be achieved through diversity and the celebration of customs. In fact it is
imperative, infers the guide, that the youth continue the nation’s traditions: “Do you know
what would happen if young people refused to play these ancient instruments? …When the
old people die, Nigerian traditional music would die too. Unless boys like you decide to
make it live” (Segun, Olu 62). The headmaster re-emphasises this point by declaring:
“While we have to move with the times, we must not forget our cultural heritage. We must
not forget the music of our forefathers” (Segun, Olu 68). The headmaster’s sentiment is
directly shared by Segun in her ANA address, where she stresses that children “must learn
about (the nation’s) traditional musical instruments… for these are important aspects of their
cultural heritage” (Segun, “Importance of Literature” 3).
But the role of the ‘third parent’ is not limited to educating children on their collective
history. Segun also acknowledges the responsibility of children’s literature to aid in
socialising readers, creating in the youth “an awareness of the expectations of a decent
society and acceptable behaviour patterns” (“Importance of Literature” 13). The moralising
influence children’s books have on their readers is intrinsically linked to the betterment of
society, so one might see the knock-on effect of a book on a child and a child on society. As
Segun suggests, “books can influence young people for their own good and for the good of
society” (“Importance of Literature” 13-14). These ‘good’ qualities children’s literature is
able to reproduce in the reader are considered by Segun to be traits such as “acceptance of
responsibility, good leadership, honesty, selflessness and patriotism”, all of which contribute
to the moulding of a ‘good’ citizen, an idea that is also apparent throughout Achebe’s books
for children (“Importance of Literature” 13-14).
These themes of responsibility, persistence and above all patriotism are particularly evident
in Segun’s Youth Day Parade. The main character, Tunde, is assigned to organise his
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 43
school’s parade for Youth Day. He overcomes his anxiety about his responsibility by
learning to organise and delegate tasks, going on to achieve his goal through enthusiasm and
collaboration, leading his school with near-patriotic pride. Taking Tunde’s school as a
metaphor for the nation, one can see the school is of primary concern. Any pupil’s
individual achievement is a triumph for the school, as evidenced at the end of the song when
the headmaster shouts “Up Boys!” the boys reply “Up School!” (Segun, Youth Day 49).
The headmaster’s aspiration to train learners “to be responsible citizens” in Youth Day is
mirrored by the headmaster in Achebe’s Chike and the River (Segun, Youth Day 4). Yet,
although both principals have a similar overall objective, the headmaster in Youth Day
appears less contradictory. The effectiveness of the headmaster in Chike as an aid in the
production of ‘good’ citizens is undermined by his selective use of English as a signifier of
power and intelligence (as it is his ambition to send his students to study in Europe). The
headmaster in Youth Day, on the other hand, is not unwaveringly patriotic. He emphasises
the pitfalls of the Nigerian government, highlighting the lack of funding provided to them by
the Ministry of Education (Segun, Youth Day 8). He also does not position himself as
unapproachable or dictatorial, as evidenced by his delegation of a task usually reserved for
the games master to his students (both male and female). As he explains to Tunde, “this
would be a good opportunity for you boys and girls to make the arrangements yourselves.
We are training you to be responsible citizens” (Segun, Youth Day 4).
In Olu and the Broken Statue, it is Olu’s father who most encourages him to be an
upstanding citizen. When Olu confides in his father that he is in possession of what he
believes to be an ancient artefact, his father acknowledges Olu’s autonomy as well as his
greater role in the nation. Instead of telling him what to do, Olu’s father poses a question to
him: “How would you feel if you won first prize in the School Band fund Competition and
you knew you had won it by letting your country down?” (Segun, Olu 52). This question
makes Olu (and the reader) think about his actions as a member of the nation. When Olu
makes up his mind to do the ‘right thing’, reporting the artefact to the museum, the Director
praises him and his friends for putting the needs of their country above their own personal
gain: “…you could have sold it to get money for your School Band Fund but instead you
chose to bring it here. You are very good boys. You will make good citizens” (Segun, Olu
56). The museum makes a sizeable donation to the School Band Fund as a reward, ensuring
them first place. Therefore Olu and his friends, through their honesty, integrity and respect
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 44
for and continuance of their nation’s traditions (in the form of traditional instruments) are
the very models of ‘good’ citizenship Segun is attempting to inculcate within the reader.
Examples of virtuous qualities abound in Segun’s works. We see them most clearly distilled
in the school song written by Ekpo in Youth Day Parade, which encourages respect,
honesty, hard work, responsibility, bravery, equality, consideration for others and, above all,
teamwork and unity for a greater cause: the betterment of their school (or if we are to extend
the metaphor, the betterment of their nation).62 One way of achieving this unification, Segun
suggests, is through cultural differences. The author places great emphasis on the benefit of
multi-ethnic and multicultural books for children, suggesting they can play a major role in
national unification and tolerance of differences (Segun, “Importance of Literature” 2). An
example of this can be most definitively seen in the cultural diversity of the characters in
Youth Day: Tunde (Yoruba), Audu (Hausa), Ekpo (Efik), and Chike Wachukwu (Igbo). The
multiple cultures represented by these characters mirror the ethnic plurality of Nigeria and
their ultimate collaboration suggests that overcoming ethnic differences in a multi-ethnic
nation will harvest positive, unifying results.
Problematically, however, Segun frequently hints that one major force of unification is
through Christianity, favouring it above other dominant religions in Nigeria, such as Islam.
It is not surprising that Christianity is a major feature of Segun’s books considering her
father was a pastor and her early life centred around the church, which is chronicled in her
autobiographical book, My Father’s Daughter. In the book, the church and the Christian
compound are central binding forces for her community, even for the “Moslem” and
“pagan” members (Segun, Father’s Daughter 32). Segun goes on to insinuate that
Christianity is more refined and ‘civilised’, as evidenced when she states that to the
“Christian and pagan inhabitants… the outside world was Ife and Ide and civilisation meant
Father and the Mission Compound” (Segun, Father’s Daughter 8).
In fact, throughout My Father’s Daughter, Segun seems to indicate the ‘backwardness’ of
traditional pagan religions when compared with Christianity, often associating illiteracy
with those who hold traditional beliefs. This is epitomised when a distant relation, a middle-
62 The school song: “We have the finest school of all, And its name is Zuma School, Respected in all the land For Truth and Honesty, Bravery and Unity. Boys and girls of Zuma School, This good name we all must keep; Serious in work we’ll be, And fair at play as well; Let us think of others, In everything we do. Chorus: Up Boys! Up Girls! Work hard and play fair, In the name of Zuma School”
(Segun, Youth Day 12).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 45
aged woman, comes to stay with the main character’s family in the hope of enhancing her
fertility. The narrator describes her as “plagued with ‘abiku’ children”, going on to say that
“like most illiterate women she believed that it was her first born who was being
reincarnated in the other children.63 She had tried many of the traditional remedies and all
had failed” (Segun, Father’s Daughter 70). It is only after the woman converts to
Christianity and her name is changed to Ruth, that she eventually gives birth to a healthy
baby boy. It is thus impressed upon the reader that not only is a woman’s ability to have
(specifically male) children the key to fulfilment, but that traditional beliefs are ‘uncivilised’
and the only way to be ‘saved’ is through Christianity (a religion intimately linked to
colonialism and patriarchy).
This aspect of Segun’s works is entirely contradictory to her goal of inculcating unification
through cultural (and religious) diversity and respect for tradition and history. Where in Olu,
Segun takes pains to highlight the negative influence of colonialism on the nation and its
ancient traditions My Father’s Daughter seems to highlight the virtues of colonialism, her
narrative bordering on nostalgia for her colonial childhood. Indeed, the main character quite
clearly sees herself and her family as ‘above’ the other characters in the book, describing
herself as a “privileged person” to whom “normal rules did not apply” (Segun, Father’s
Daughter 34). She has a multitude of servants, whom she frequently degrades and she
positions both her father and mother as ‘above’ the other members of the community.
Segun’s sees her mother as more ‘cultured’ and ‘dignified’ than her counterparts; she
“always wore a frock”, in contrast to the other women in her community who dressed in
traditional wear, and her “beautiful voice… rose above the uncultured contralto of the
illiterate women” (Segun, Father’s Daughter 10). Indeed, the main character makes a point
of equating literacy with pedigree and civilisation (a persistent belief that Ten Kortenaar,
2011, points out as problematic). The main character is proud of her mother’s literacy and
her position as President of the Egbe Aya Bishop women’s society. Yet despite her
63 There has been much critical focus on a metaphorical representation of ‘abiku’ in African literature for adults. The figure is often used to contrast tradition and modernity, spirituality and scientific logic. Traditionally, in Nigerian cultures, it is believed an ‘abiku’ is a child who dies and is reborn into the same family multiple times. Conversely, it is thought that the concept of ‘abiku’ is a way of explaining a high infant mortality rate. The ‘abiku’, then, can be seen to straddle both the spirit world and the physical world; the past, the present and the future – frequently becoming a metaphor for a transitional state at a time of political, cultural or social change (i.e. independence) (Hawley 30-39). Segun can be seen to adopt a somewhat convenient position on the ‘abiku’, negating tradition and associating a belief in the phenomenon with ‘backwardness’ and ‘illiteracy’.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 46
education and position of power in the community, Mother remains an unthreatening,
‘reaffirming’ character, conforming to her role of “the typical clergyman’s wife” and
assuming a “self effacing” role with her “sweet nature” (Segun, Father’s Daughter 10). Her
mother’s compliance with typical gender roles impacts on the formation of her daughter’s
female identity, problematically proliferating these roles.
The fact that the reader is witness to the process of the main character’s identity formation is
in large part what makes My Father’s Daughter so different from the other books in my
sample. Although Segun did not originally intend the book for a child readership, it was well
received by the younger population and is subsequently listed on her website as one of her
children’s books.64 Martini (1997) categorises the book as belonging to the genre of “Family
Stories,” a sub-genre of “Children’s realistic stories” as it contains adult subject matter, but
is appropriate for children too (221). Following this description, the book can also be seen as
belonging to the medium of crosswriting, as defined by Beckett (58). As demonstrated in my
introductory chapter, crossover literature opens up a less restricted space in which to help
formulate individual identity. The medium is a particularly fruitful arena for identity
construction as the autobiographical aspect of the book, with its natural bildungsroman,
draws the readers in, helping them to firmly identify with the main character, affecting their
own identity formation. In her book Critical Perspectives on Postcolonial African
Children’s and Young Adult Literature (1998), Khorana suggests that autobiographies and
biographies aid in individual identity creation by including role models, encouraging self-
esteem and building on a sense of national unity, features Segun believes are central to the
role of children’s literature as the ‘third parent’ (7).
And yet what makes the medium such an effective one for connecting with the child reader
and aiding in identity development is precisely the reason why it is underutilised for the
younger population. As Martini (1997) suggests, the reason for the lack of autobiographies
directed toward a child-readership is largely due to the fact that, in juxtaposition with
novels, autobiographies “form the genre of ‘having become,’ whereas novels, in Bakhtin’s
words, are a ‘genre of becoming’” (qtd. in Martini 219). Authors write autobiographies in
the present about themselves in the past. They have the knowledge of hindsight, their
present selves having been shaped by their past experiences. Children, on the other hand, are
64 Online resource available at: www.mabelsegun.com [Accessed 3 April 2015].
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 47
still “becoming” and are therefore believed not to have the same perception of the link
between past and present nor the benefit of reflection (Martini 219).
Therefore, on the one hand, we have a story that is more complex, more identifiable with
and less patronising of its readership (mostly because its child readership is unintended),
which can be seen as an effective way of portraying ‘reality’ for a child. It avoids the
“impossibility” (as put forth by Rose, 1984) of inventing a fictional child character, drawing
him or her in by providing a ‘real’ child character.65 But on the other hand, because it is set
in the past, many of the situations or beliefs held by the main character could seem out-
dated, alienating, confusing or even detrimental to the goal of nation re-formation.
Constructing the Female
An example of this is noticeably seen in the way the main character constructs her identity
as a female. My Father’s Daughter is the only text from my sample of Nigerian children’s
books that features a female main character, a factor that offers insight into the female
perspective and provides female readers with a point of identification. However, the role of
women in My Father’s Daughter remains relegated to that of domesticity; they are regularly
featured preparing meals, minding children and “talking and gossiping” (31). Where the
female characters do occupy positions of leadership, the roles are for female-only
committees that have no impact on men. Arguably, Segun could be highlighting the
restrictive roles women occupied during colonialism, yet when one turns to Olu, set after
independence, one finds the muted female once more in these domestic roles. As with
Achebe’s Chike, the main characters are male and the peripheral females are mothers,
housewives and market women. Olu’s mother, who Nnaemeka (1996) would refer to as a
“character of reaffirmation”, peruses magazines where her husband reads newspapers,
implying she is less concerned or informed about the political realm than her husband.
Additionally she has a defined domestic role; we frequently see her busy with household
chores and, when Professor Ipefan visits, she is more anxious about feeding him than
engaging him in conversation, reinforcing the gender stereotype of woman as nurturer (see
Segun, Olu 38-9).
65 Although one may still argue that because it is written with an adult’s hindsight, it can still be seen as not having bridged this gap.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 48
This is problematic given Segun’s statement in her essay, “Challenges of Being a Female
Writer in a Male-Dominated Developing Society” (2001), that female writers in a
developing society should be preoccupied with attempting to “correct the injustice of male
domination in their society” by encouraging women to “unlearn the lessons of the past”
(300). In this way a new way of seeing themselves will be instilled, a way that incorporates
an “awareness of their inherent strengths and potentialities for effecting social change in
their society as equal partners with men” (Segun, “Challenges” 300). Where these traits do
not reveal themselves in Olu and are obscured in My Father’s Daughter, Segun’s Youth Day
does at least address the issue of gender equality. Although the main character, Tunde, is
male and is appointed as organiser of the parade, he shares a majority of his duties with his
female classmate, Okanima, who also leads the parade with Tunde. In fact, the book ends
with: “Tunde looked at Okanima and they both smiled… Surely they must win the prize”
(Segun, Youth Day 22). The final lines indicate what Segun believes is the potential of the
new generation of Nigerian children to march forward in equality and unity, both boys and
girls achieving their goals through collaboration, hard work, bravery, ingenuity, fairness and
friendship.
Okanima can therefore be seen as a possible role model for the girl-child reader, making
Youth Day more relatable to both sexes than the story of Olu. Yet the female reader cannot
fully be drawn into the book as she might be with the young Segun in My Father’s Daughter
because Okanima remains a one-dimensional, secondary character. In contrast, Segun’s
main character in her autobiography is fully developed and can be identified with. The
female child reader might find it easy to imagine herself in the place of young Segun. The
first person narrative draws the reader in at knee-level; we see a train resembling a
“centipede” and an evening market turned into a “fairyland” with clay lanterns that look like
“glow-worms” (Segun, Father’s Daughter 54 and 58). We are privy to the character’s age-
restricted thoughts and disproportionate fears as she constructs the world around her and
herself in relation to it.
Problematically, however, we are also aware of the main character’s complex construction
of beauty as relative to whiteness. She admires Miss Grant, a “pretty”, young, white
deaconess (Segun, Father’s Daughter 10). Her close friend, Tinuade has a “beautiful light
complexion” and is described by the main character as “the prettiest girl I had ever known”
(Segun, Father’s Daughter 48). Yet her notion of beauty is complicated by tradition; it is
because of Tinuade’s light complexion that her tribal markings appear “dainty on her
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 49
cheeks” (Segun, Father’s Daughter 48). The simultaneous European and African ideals of
beauty held by the main character can be seen as a signal of her displacement in a society
that is a mixture of colonial and traditional. This could be a powerful identifying feature for
a young female reader who may be constructing similar mixed notions of beauty in a
postcolonial society. However, the character’s preoccupation with the appearances of other
female characters may inculcate in the female reader a sense that her looks are more
important than her personal achievements or character. This obscures the author’s intent of
“raising the consciousness of women, motivating them to seek leadership roles in society
and encouraging them to take their rightful place in the civil society” (Segun, “Challenges”
301).
My Father’s Daughter may not be entirely successful in this regard, but when placed
alongside the sample of texts by Achebe, it is evident that Segun does attempt to display a
realistic awareness of her female readers. Additionally, unlike Achebe, Segun does not lean
so heavily on traditional stories, but where she does exemplify with folktale, she notably
includes heroic women. For instance, one of the stories she relays is of Moremi, an Ife
woman who used her wit and bravery to save her village from tormenting marauders
(Segun, Father’s Daughter 38).66 This is an exceptionally vital element in Segun’s book as
it indicates her awareness of the problematic loss of important heroic female characters in
traditional oral folklore, suggested by Nnaemeka to be a product of colonial patriarchy and
the resultant “masculinist literary tradition” that followed (Nnaemeka, “Orality to Writing”
140). It also potentially signals her knowledge of oral literature’s importance as a socialising
tool through which a (in this case primarily female) child’s individual and national identities
can be informed, developed and affirmed.
Yet all three books focus mainly on passing down unisex moral messages, concentrating on
virtues of unity, hard work, compassion and respect. Where Olu marginalises the role of
women in society, featuring ‘reaffirmative' female characters, Youth Day suggests the need
for gender equality through the unthreatening character of Okanima. The latter book can
thus be seen as a nod to what Nnaemeka (2004) describes as “nego-feminism”, where
66 Flora Nwapa’s children’s book Mammywater (1979) is another example of writers using strong, female mythical characters. A “Mammywater”, venerated in certain parts of Africa, including West Africa, is a water goddess linked to fertility. But more than divinity, implies Jell-Bahlsen (1995), Mammywater also embodies “aspects of womanhood in pre-colonial Igbo culture and society”, before western forms of patriarchy became so firmly rooted through colonial rule (30).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 50
patriarchal norms are challenged though negotiation and compromise rather than dealt with
directly. One could attribute this reticence about directly addressing the inequalities
associated with the gender gap stemming from a self-consciousness about the primarily
“male gaze” of the reader and critic, as suggested by Nnaemeka (“Orality to Writing” 151).
Certainly, by composing both Olu and Youth Day from the perspective of male main
characters, Segun places the male reader at the forefront, marginalising the female reader.
This fundamentally undermines Segun’s message of gender equality (as proposed in
Segun’s “Challenges”) and the need for both boys and girls to unite in the task of
developing a nation grounded in honesty, compassion, diversity, hard work and dedication.
It can therefore be seen that in both Olu and Youth Day, Segun falls short of her mission to
“deconstruct gender stereotypes” as a female writer of children’s literature (“Challenges”
301). Rather she reaffirms them, perhaps even further widening the gender gap.
This is particularly antithetical to her belief that children should be taught gender equality
from an early age, so that they grow into citizens who advocate for equal rights (Segun,
“Challenges” 301). Her statement that “it is easier for the right lessons to be learned from
childhood than for the wrong lessons to be unlearned in adulthood” echoes Juliana Daniels’
(2015) assertion that rather than waiting until children are old enough to understand and
unlearn the gender stereotypes they have been taught, writers should rather be teaching them
the importance of gender equality as early as possible (Segun “Challenges” 301; Daniels
157). Children’s books can therefore, according to Segun, “act as a preventative” to dispel
prejudices (“Importance of Literature” 13). And yet it is evident there is a discrepancy in
what Segun indicates children’s books can accomplish and what she actually ends up
inscribing into her works.
Children as Subjects
This desire to control through literature what children are exposed to in order to shape them
in a specific way speaks directly to what Hunt and Rudd see as the problematic power
relation of the adult author and the “simple-minded”, “highly impressionable” child reader
(Hunt, Understanding Children’s Literature 5-6). Segun takes the stance that a child’s
thoughts and beliefs can and should be created by the author, restricting the space Rudd
suggests is imperative for individual imaginative identity construction (16-17). Instead,
Segun’s problematically delimited view is of the child as a tabula rasa,67 likening their mind
67 As first put forth by John Locke in his “An Essay Concerning Human Understanding”.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 51
to an “open book in which a writer may write whatever she likes” (Segun, “Challenges”
301).
Segun’s view of children as a homogenous and dependent group is apparent in the way in
which she speaks of them (and for them) as ‘knowable subjects’. In almost exactly the same
words that Achebe uses to describe his process of writing children’s books,68 Segun asserts,
“to succeed as a children’s writer you must become a child yourself” (Okediran 234). As
discussed in the introductory chapter, it is, of course, impossible (as put forth by Rose, 1984)
for an adult to “become a child” or “get into the mind of a child”. Yet, it appears Segun
believes herself to know precisely what children want: “children want real characters they
can identify with. It is in their interest and that of society in general that they be shown the
real world with its imperfections, cruelties, injustice… they need books about growing up”
(“Importance of Literature” 6). She also generalises (“young people pass through stages of
hero-worship”) and lays out what she believes Nigerian children ‘need’ in order to be
conditioned into productive (indeed transformative) members of Nigerian society: “in
present-day Nigeria, young people need new models of greatness which they can emulate -
honest people who through their industry and integrity have made positive contributions to
the progress of the Nigerian society” (Segun, “Importance of Literature” 6).
Indeed, the progress of the nation is Segun’s primary reason for writing children’s literature
in the first place. In an interview with Wale Okediran (1997), Segun reveals these intentions
directly: “I am trying to mould the lives of children in the right direction so that Nigeria can
be a better place to live in when they grow up” (238). Her assumption that children are
easily mouldable and can be guided in (what she considers to be) the ‘right’ direction
reiterates her stance on children as not fully formed beings, echoing Nodelman’s assertions
on children being seen as needing to be ‘civilised’ by an adult through literature.
However, Segun does appear to be aware of the injustice of the adult/child power dynamic.
In Olu, the boys lament being mistreated by adults. They are taken advantage of by
gamblers, fishermen and art dealers; they are dismissed by the police and shooed away by
tourists and neighbours, who see them as a nuisance. In My Father’s Daughter, the main
character is excluded from many ‘grown up’ activities and the headmaster takes advantage
68In an interview conducted by Jonathan Cott in 1980, Achebe says of the process of writing children’s literature: “It’s a challenge… because it requires a different kind of mind from me when I’m doing it – I have to get into the mind of a child totally, and I find that very rewarding” (Cott 85).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 52
of her youthful “ignorance” by taunting her for his entertainment. But Segun’s most lucid
depiction of the unfair, subordinate status of children is her account of a standard five
schoolboy who is publicly disrobed and beaten as punishment for dressing up as an
“egungun” and thrashing a teacher with sticks (Father’s Daughter 42). Instead of providing
the story as a straightforward example of ‘bad’ behaviour, Segun complicates it by revealing
the boy’s motive. The boy “was already married and had a child” and therefore resented the
conventional power dynamic between himself and his teacher, “since he now considered
himself a…‘master of the house’” (Segun, Father’s Daughter 42). This example illustrates a
real situation faced by some of the readers. It delves into the individual, psychological and
societal impact of the dualistic role imposed on these children, who have the responsibility
of adults, but are still subordinate to their elders. This technique draws readers in, providing
them with a point of identification, creating the necessary space in which to formulate their
own opinions and identities (as opposed to the more two-dimensional Olu and Youth Day,
which are rigid, restrictive and single-minded in their intentions to direct readers toward a
pre-planned goal).
Yet the potential Segun sees in children’s literature to dispel negative stereotypes is the
same potential it holds to introduce and proliferate new and existing stereotypes. The
restrictive nature of Segun’s Olu and Youth Day means that the child reader is compelled
toward a specific viewpoint created by the adult author and has little room in which to
imagine or develop his or her own individual identity. Conversely, the space opened up by
the autobiographical nature of My Father’s Daughter can be interpreted as one that
encourages the imaginative construction of individual identity, particularly for the female
child reader. Yet precisely because of the powerful impact the narrative has on the
imagination of the reader, any ideas that may portray a damaging image of self, gender or
nation could be internalised and circulated by the reader, carrying these potentially
destructive ideas forward into the new nation, the positive construction of which Segun so
carefully attempted to influence.
Conclusion: Reaffirming Gender Roles
The extent of Segun’s aspirations to influence might have been disproportionate to her
abilities, but the inclusion of strong female characters in her children’s works speaks
volumes to the vital role female writers play in the development of the nation. Where
Achebe does not provide a dominant point of female identification, Segun makes the literary
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 53
space accessible to the girl reader, providing her with a much-required platform for
individual and national identity construction and offering for the male reader a much-needed
perspective on Nigerian femininity. In this way Segun can be seen to attempt to pave the
way toward a nation that moves forward in unity and equality.
However, including “characters of reaffirmation” in her works can be seen to be detrimental
to this goal, as is the prioritising of patriotism over the needs and rights of women. In fact,
according to Daniels, the gender gap is one of the biggest concerns working against national
development (156). If books are central to the passing down of societal norms and cultural
traditions, they are also vehicles for the inheritance of gender inequalities, I suggest Segun
could have gone further, emphasising the importance of gender equality alongside her idea
of how the nation could be refashioned through children’s literature (Daniels 156).
It is apparent that Segun’s goal of aiding in the development of constructive citizens who are
responsible, honest, determined, hardworking and above all self-sacrificing in the name of
their nation is of paramount importance to her. Yet in her determination to prioritise the
needs of the nation and her assumption that children are a homogenous mass whose identity
can be written into being by the adult author, Segun neglects the needs of the individual
child and, like Achebe, fails to fully integrate the female into her blueprint for nation-
building.
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Chapter Three
Popularity and Social Realism in Cyprian Ekwensi’s Children’s Literature
A large part of Ekwensi’s success as an author was his mass appeal. Ekwensi made no secret
of the fact that he intentionally wrote books aimed at a broad readership in order to increase
the popularity of his works (Emenyonu, Modern African Writers 1).69 But it was about more
than being well liked; for the author producing popular novels was a key factor for
transformation in Nigeria. In the 1982 International Conference on African Literature and
the English Language, Ekwensi stated the focus of African writers and publishers should be
enthusiastic and creative promotion of literature for the masses. He argued it was through
the popularisation of Nigerian novels (both locally and globally) that reading could become
a more likely and attractive pastime to the nation’s population, especially amongst the
younger demographic (Emenyonu, Modern African Writers xv).
Tied to the author’s need to entertain the reader is his belief that stories need to be firmly
grounded in reality. Where Achebe saw the role of the novelist as “teacher” and Segun sees
(primarily children’s) literature as a parental figure, Ekwensi claimed that the responsibility
of the writer is to “hold a mirror up to nature and describe the reflection truthfully regardless
of the over-sensitiveness or otherwise of his public truth” (Emenyonu, Modern African
Writers 3). In this way, Ekwensi can be seen to be more interested in the individual than the
likes of Achebe or Segun (who focused their attention primarily on the nation as a whole),
choosing to highlight not the cause of the change but the effect of change on the human
being (Emenyonu, Modern African Writers 18).
Ewkensi’s mirroring of reality extended to his books for children, which rank as some of his
most successful works (Emenyonu, Modern African Writers 46). Within the first six years of
independence, Ekwensi published six books for children, revealing the importance he placed
on providing relevant literature to Nigerian youth at the time. His children’s books were,
according to Emenyonu, “an attempt to bring contemporary African writing to Nigerian
69 In an essay entitled “Random Thoughts on Clocking Sixty-Five” written for Emenyonu’s The Essential Ekwensi (1987), Ekwensi claimed to have “always wanted to be a populist writer, a compulsively-read writer” (88).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 55
children” (Modern African Writers 48). Emenyonu points to a disjuncture prior to
independence between Nigerian children’s lived reality and the (largely British) educational
material with which they were taught at school. Ekwensi attempted to “bridge these gaps”
by grounding his children’s literature in themes stemming from actual events in Nigerian
history, or which grapple with real social issues encountered by Nigerian children at the
time (Emenyonu, Modern African Writers 48). The author offered young readers an entirely
new kind of literature, local in background, history and content and written in a style
resembling the traditional African folktale (Emenyonu, Modern African Writers 47-8).
Like Achebe, his works for children attempted to bring contemporary African writing to
Nigerian children and merge it with traditional values through storytelling. Yet unlike
Achebe, Ekwensi’s works tackle head-on contemporary, real-life issues of physical
handicaps, abuse, discrimination and death – themes that were likely to be familiar to the
nation’s children. The Drummer Boy, for example, is set in and nearby Lagos and centres on
a blind boy of twelve, named Akin. Despite his physical disability, Akin has a positive
outlook and brings perspective, joy and beautiful music to those he comes into contact with.
Yet Akin is repeatedly taken advantage of and controlled by both adults and peers. The third
person omniscient narrative technique offers multiple points of identification for the reader.
The poverty-stricken, handicapped Akin, the financially independent and powerful Madam
Bisi and the successful but suffering modern woman, Ayike provide voices for marginalised
groups.
In contrast to The Drummer Boy, The Passport of Mallam Ilia is set primarily in the past,
evoking life as it was in Northern Nigeria, with its “emirs, horsemen, pilgrims and mosques”
(Emenyonu, Modern African Writers 52). The story follows the pattern of oral storytelling,
beginning in the present, journeying into the past and ending back in the present. The story
is of Mallam Alhaji Ibrahim Ilia who is on a mission to avenge the death of his wife, Zarah.
It is an entertaining, suspense-filled story that keeps the reader interested throughout and
inculcates the moral lesson that evil cannot overcome evil. The reader is also educated on
culture, history and geography, as the story travels through time and place; to a pre-
colonised, predominantly Islamic Hausaland, the Hausa Wars, French Equatorial Africa,
Mecca and to East Africa during the Second World War (Emenyonu, Modern African
Writers 53). But where the reader is educated and entertained, he or she may also absorb a
potentially damaging view of women as objects.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 56
This view is perpetuated in An African Night’s Entertainment (1962), which, like Passport,
is a story of revenge and struggle over the ownership of a woman. Also similar to Passport
is its evocation of the oral tradition of storytelling. The story recounts a popular Hausa tale
of a wealthy man, Mallam Shehu, who has three barren wives. His obsession to produce a
son leads him to bewitch Zainobe, who is already betrothed to another man, Abu Bakir.
When Shehu succeeds in ‘winning’ Zainobe and producing a male heir, Bakir vows
vengeance, destroying everyone involved (here, as in Passport, Ekwensi is highlighting the
futility of vengeance).
Looking at these three works together, one can see similar patterns and pitfalls. African
Night’s and Passport emphasise the importance of tradition and history and demonstrate the
senselessness of revenge and Drummer Boy teaches the reader the importance of
forgiveness, citizenship and sensitivity toward the needs of others. These lessons become
particularly important when one considers that they were published for Nigerian children in
the first few years of independence, when a way forward from colonialism was being paved.
Although all three books flounder on the issue of the place of women in the ‘new nation’,
Ekwensi does attempt to provide for his young reader ‘real’ situations and identifiable
characters in his adventure-packed books, promoting an interest in reading, an awareness of
Nigerian history and geography and an acceptance of the country’s cultural pluralism.70
National Identity Construction: Unity and Cultural Pluralism
Like Segun, Ekwensi believed the celebration of cultural diversity in Nigeria was one key
way to move toward a more unified, peaceful nation. In an interview with Granqvist,
Ekwensi explains that in order to progress toward unity, it is important that Nigerians aren’t
coerced into unification, stating, “the various groups in this country value their
independence, their culture, their own ethnicity, while regarding themselves as Nigerians”
(“Interview” 124). Ekwensi implies Nigerians should be allowed to celebrate their own
cultures whilst being aware of others’; in this way they can be united in their overarching
nationality (promoting a sense of an “imagined community”) whilst still continuing to
practice their individual beliefs.
70 I use Nwamuo’s definition of “cultural pluralism” which is “the right of individuals to maintain their ethnic identity while sharing a common culture with people from different ethnic groups” (41).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 57
It was especially vital for Ekwensi that local children’s literature should internalise the
theme of cultural diversity. He saw the gap between what children were being taught at
school and the cultural values expounded by their community as problematic in the greater
scheme of national peace and unity. Ekwensi therefore promoted multicultural education
with the aim of aiding cultural literacy, tolerance and understanding. He emphasised the
importance of reflecting in local children’s literature the pluralistic society Nigeria had
evolved into, welding together various existing cultures, religions and languages into one
cohesive nation, grounding them through the medium of oral storytelling (Nwamuo 39).
Where Achebe utilises modes of storytelling in his works for children for the primary
purpose of meshing together national and individual identities, Ekwensi seems to use the
medium as an instrument to promote cultural consciousness, encouraging national unity
through awareness of diversity. In this way, the publishing of Ekwensi’s books in English is
vital to the spread of traditional stories that would otherwise have only circulated in a single
language, inaccessible to a wider audience. In African Night’s, the author uses the technique
of storytelling in a very literal way. The reader is drawn into the story as if he or she is a part
of the audience, gathered around the storyteller under the light of the moon, demonstrating
Ekwensi’s attempt to “recapture in the story the mood and setting of the traditional African
folk tale” (Emenyonu, Modern African Writers 62). The book begins with a group of “young
men, old men, children, women” congregated on the sheepskin next to a storyteller. The
varying ages of the audience, Osa suggests, “serves the special purpose of creating a picture
of a true traditional African community - neither exclusively for adults nor exclusively for
children” (“Then and Now" 4). The book, too, can be seen to be equally entertaining to both
adults and children – lending itself the characteristics of what Martini would describe as
“Family Stories” (as with Segun’s My Father’s Daughter) (221). It can thus also be seen to
function as a work of ‘crossover literature’ as it traverses the border between adult and
children’s literature, oscillating in a space that fuels the construction of an individual
identity (Beckett 58; Rudd 16).
The unifying aspect of storytelling provides the reader with a solid point of group
identification and the multiple cultures portrayed in the story widens the space in which to
formulate the individual identity, expanding the reader’s awareness of other cultures existing
in their single nation. The differences in cultural traits are, at times, subtle to a reader who
has a limited knowledge of the various traditions practiced in Nigeria. Nwamuo points out
an instance within African Night’s demonstrating the Muslim trait of holding hands and
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 58
smiting the chest to express sincere feelings of friendship, acceptance and appreciation. He
then contrasts this with how the Yoruba or Igbo would convey the same sentiment in that
particular scene. Where the Yoruba would place a hand on Abu’s head as he kneels down,
the Igbo would vigorously shake hands and pray for Abu to go in peace (Nwamuo 43).
Children who were exposed to the different cultural practices would pick up on these
variances and gain a better understanding of how members of other cultures can express
similar sentiments, enhancing a sense of similarity through differences.
Likewise, Passport weaves together Islamic culture, history and contemporary Nigerian
society for the same purpose (Iloeje 29). The narrative switches in time and place, as
mentioned previously, illuminating the history not only of Nigeria at the time, but also
situating it in a wider context of Africa (Emenyonu, Modern African Writers 53). Although
the book was criticised for being a “queer mixture of influences with nothing Nigerian in it”,
the counter argument is that contemporary Nigeria is a queer mixture of influences, both
culturally and physically (Emenyonu, Modern African Writers 2).
Problematically, however, Ekwensi’s books seem to indicate that colonisation by the British
played a positive role in the eradication of certain African traditions. An example of this can
be seen in Passport, where Mallam Ilia describes how he played the game Shanchi, (fight to
the death) for the hand of Zarah, after which he declares that he is “glad the British came to
Kano so soon after and stamped out such dreadful customs” (Ekwensi, Passport 19). The
idea that Europe is more advanced and Africa is “backward” or somehow “behind” is,
however, most apparent in Drummer Boy, where Europe and Africa are frequently directly
compared. Indeed, it is made clear by Nurse Joe that Akin’s sight could have been saved by
the (English) eye specialist, Doctor Simpson, if only Akin’s “silly”, “ignorant” parents
hadn’t tried to treat the boy themselves with “crude drugs” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 14). It
is not only Europeans’ medicine that is implied to be as more ‘advanced’ in the book, but
also their attitude toward the handicapped. It is again Nurse Joe who casts England in a
more favourable light when he tells Akin, “in England, blind people do not have to beg as
we do here in Africa. They have special literature of their own” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy
54). Mr Fletcher (the English founder of the Boy’s Forest Home) then sets out on what he
calls a “propaganda tour” in order to “educate” Africans on the handicapped in the attempt
to change their view of the disabled as redundant and prove that they can become “useful
citizens” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 20).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 59
Mr Fletcher’s idea of being “useful citizen” is central to his founding of the Boy’s Forest
Home, where, as he explains to Bisi, troubled boys “learn to be useful citizens here, instead
of crooked ones” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 20). Mr Fletcher and his Boy’s Forest Home take
on a troubling likening to a ‘civilising mission’, whereby the school takes in and ‘reforms’
young African boys to become (his British idea of) beneficial members of society.
This is especially apparent in Mr Marshall’s explanation to Madam Bisi of how Fletcher
came to establish the Boys’ Forest Home:
He had just come out from England to do welfare work, and we were having a lot of trouble with little boys in Lagos. You know the sort I mean: thieves and the like… Fletcher hit upon the idea that it would be worth his while to try and reform these African boys... So off he went into the bush with a handful of the worst of them, and they cleared a wooded area on the River Ogun (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 17-18).
In this cleared area and under Mr Fletcher’s guidance, these “African boys” built the Home,
proving (according to Mr Marshall, Welfare Officer from England) that Fletcher had “made
men out of them” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 18). The above passage speaks volumes about
the adult/child and civilised/uncivilised power relations within the book; implying
delinquent “African boys” are made into ‘men’ by becoming ‘civilised’ through a European
education. This inference of Africans as ‘primitive’, ‘undeveloped’ beings is precisely what
Achebe and Segun attempted to avoid in their children’s literature, as they believed it
fundamentally undermines the integrity of the Nigerian consciousness.
Another way Ekwensi can be seen to undermine his African readers’ perception of their
nation is through belittling, homogenising and stereotyping ‘African ways’. In Passport, Ilia
mentions he was a doctor in the army, elaborating with the statement, “a doctor of the mind,
as well as of the body; in our own little African way, of course”, implying he was a
medicine man and not a doctor in the Western sense (9). His belittlement of African
medicine men infers his internalised belief that western medicine and qualifications are
superior to traditional African medicine (a view already echoed in Drummer Boy). This
could lead to the young reader’s internalisation of the belief that Africans and their traditions
are ‘uncivilised’ and should be disparaged, a way of thinking that undercuts the goal of
fostering a less Eurocentric national consciousness.
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Exposing the Civilised Adult and the Uncivilised Child
The civilised/uncivilised dynamic extends to Ekwensi’s view on the role of authors of
children’s books. The author is reported to have likened the role of the children’s book
writer to that of a “civilising mission”,71 where there is a need to project through their texts
“high standards of honesty, courage, truth, honour and all those things that lift a man from
the level of the savage and make him a finer being” (Unoh 4). Ekwensi’s statement
distinctly exemplifies Slemon and Wallace’s suggestion that the adult author of children’s
literature perceives the child reader as a “primitive” “subject-in-formation” (20). Yet when
one turns to his books for children, particularly The Drummer Boy, one cannot help but
notice Ekwensi is highly self-reflexive about the unequal power relations between adults and
children. Through commenting directly and indirectly on this disparity, Ekwensi opens up
the space of awareness and identification in the adult and child readers; a space that
Nodelman (1992) suggests might pave the way toward greater understanding and equality
between the two groups (“The Other” 7).
A contributing factor to the effectiveness of this space could have something to do with
Ekwensi’s primary reason for writing literature for young people: his enjoyment of
entertaining children (Granqvist, “Interview” 126). Where Achebe set out to ‘teach’ and
Segun to ‘parent’ in their respective works for children, seeing their readers as a
homogenous mass that could easily be understood and ‘written into’ literature, Ekwensi
emphasised the humanness of both his adult and child characters and their realistic
situations, making them more identifiable for his readers. The story of Drummer Boy, for
instance, is told from the perspective of both the adult (Madam Bisi, Ayike and Nurse Joe)
and the child (Akin), revealing important insights into what it could be like to live as a child
in an adult-dominated world.
This narrative technique of alternating perspectives opens up a fascinatingly constructive
space that neither Achebe’s nor Segun’s books contain. By revealing the distorted image the
adult characters have of the child characters, Ekwensi is able to address both an adult and a
child readership. The child reader can identify with Akin’s feelings of restriction and
injustice whilst also gaining a deeper insight into the perspective adults might have on
children. Alternatively, the adult reader is made aware of the effects that the unequal power
71 Echoing Jill May’s thoughts on children’s literature as an instigator for the “civilising process” that aids in the production of responsible citizens (18).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 61
dynamic between adult and child could have on children. Additionally, Ekwensi highlights
for his entire readership the power relations between the able-bodied and the disabled. Akin
is further dehumanised in the view of both the adult and child characters because of his
blindness, for which he is mocked, taken advantage of and manipulated. Since the readers
are able to view parts of the story from Akin’s perspective, they gain an awareness of the
shared sense of humanity connecting the able-bodied to the disabled and the adult to the
child.
Yet for Akin, it seems his primary handicap is not blindness, but youth. The entire book
revolves around the struggle between Akin, who craves freedom and independence, and the
adult characters that believe they know what’s best for him. Bisi, dismissing Akin’s musical
talents as a hobby and overlooking his usefulness as a provider of joy, takes the boy’s future
into her own hands. Without her intervention, Bisi believes Akin will be doomed to “remain
a beggar all his life”, and that “he would never be able to do any good for himself and his
friends, or even become a useful citizen of Africa” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 14). So she sets
about trying to find a place in Nigeria that caters for blind boys so she can “send that boy
there, and let him be taught to read and write” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 15). Madam Bisi
settles on the Boy’s Forest Home, where Akin “would be taught to use his hands: weaving
baskets, sewing, making chairs, weighing things, telling the value of money… and a lot of
other useful little things” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 31). It is therefore apparent that, to Bisi,
the only way for a boy to be a “useful citizen of Africa” is for him to become literate or to
learn “useful little things” such as arts, crafts and basic accounting.
Akin’s opinion is of little consequence to Bisi, as evidenced in her neglecting to inform him
of her plans until after she has organised a place for Akin at the Boys’ Forest Home. Bisi is
able to assert this power over Akin because not only is she an adult (and therefore ‘knows
better’ what is needed for Akin and for the country), but she also has the financial means to
pay for Akin’s education. The fact that Bisi is willing to sponsor Akin is something Mr
Marshall urges him to be grateful for. Akin is thus doubly disabled in the narrative, by his
physical disability and by the money-driven, adult-dominated world he inhabits. It is
because Akin is a child that his desires are overlooked, everywhere he turns he is
encountered by adults who belittle him, claiming to have superior knowledge of what is best
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 62
for him.72
Akin sees no choice but to run away in order to maintain his independence. But the reason
for avoiding school goes beyond his need for freedom and agency; Akin confesses to Ayike
that he is afraid to attend a school populated by able-bodied peers who might remind him he
is different. Nurse Joe correctly guesses this: “It must be, he reasoned, that… his little
friends would keep reminding him of his sufferings by making little innocent references to
his sight. What the boy needed was someone who could understand him and, quite
informally, teach him all he needed to learn in intimate companionship” (Ekwensi,
Drummer Boy 54). Although Nurse Joe believes he has Akin’s best interests at heart, it is
clear from the wording of his thoughts that he views Akin and his peers as ‘beneath’ him.
His belittlement of Akin’s “little friends” who might make “little innocent references” to his
blindness distances him from Akin and his dilemma. This mental distance is further
compounded by his use of “the boy” in place of Akin’s name. Nurse Joe de-personalises his
thoughts of Akin, making him not only a part of a homogenous group, but also implicitly
positioning himself as a ‘man’ in relation to Akin as a ‘boy’ (the implication is that he is not
yet a ‘fully formed’ person). Thus in the mind of Nurse Joe, Akin is a “subject-in-
formation”, a way of thinking that makes it more acceptable for the adult to mistreat or
control the child.73
It is therefore fitting that one of the overarching messages of the book is that one must not
underestimate others due to stereotypes or prejudiced thinking. In a surprise twist, it is
revealed that twelve year-old Herbert is the “brains” of the gang that assaulted Ayike,
burned down her eating hut and murdered a teacher at Ilekan College (Ekwensi, Drummer
Boy 76). Ekwensi implies that children’s capabilities should not be underestimated - whether
evil, as is the case with Herbert, or good, as with Akin, who does not give in to frustration or
self-pity despite his age and disability and who turns out to have a “nobler concept of
philanthropy than most well-to-do men in his society” (Emenyonu, Modern African Writers
51-2).
72 1.Nurse Joe to Akin: “Poor boy, it’s a pity you’re too young to understand…” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 54). 2. When Akin confronts Ayike about not paying the musicians and chasing them out, she snaps, “Perhaps some day when you grow up, you’ll understand” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 43). 3. Akin offers to help Ayike and she replies: “You? A little boy like you – but how?” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 39).73 This refers back to Slemon and Wallace and Paul’s assertion that children are treated as “subjects-in-formation” due to the ideological assumption that “children are too naïve (or stupid) to look after themselves” and thus need to be protected and guided by adults (Slemon and Wallace 20; Paul 124).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 63
Questioning Morality: Reflecting Human Complexity
Akin’s philanthropic nature is demonstrated throughout the book. He brings joy to the
patients in hospital, he helps Ayike rebuild her business and, even though he is
impoverished and avoids being sent to the Boy’s Forest Home, he collects money to donate
to the school. Akin can thus be seen as the epitome of ‘good’, which is why, when he
finally agrees to attend the Boy’s Forest Home, he becomes such an important part of the
reformation of the boys in the school, who exemplify that which is ‘bad’ in society.
At the end of the book the adults look on as the boys, “delinquents, the dangerous criminals,
the thieves, the liars, the run-aways-from-home”, all gather around Akin “like rats around
the Pied Piper” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 80). This is a problematic analogy.74 That the boys
are likened to rats is a fine example of Nodelman’s suggestion that children in literature are
frequently implicitly equated with animals (Nodelman “Decoding the Images” 135). But
instead of leading these “rats” to their death, as the story of the Pied Piper goes, Akin
radiates happiness “in a manner to make everyone think only of doing good, of being good,
and of living a clean life” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 80). His music incites the boys to
“dance” and “sweat” (conjuring up images of rehabilitation and purification), and leads
them to think only “good” thoughts (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 80). It is through music and
dance that the boys are purged of their wrong-doings and, following Unoh’s suggestions,
they are elevated from “savages” into “finer beings”, from “boys” into “men” (4).
Importantly, the tune is called by Akin, and not by the adult Englishmen who run the Boy’s
Forest Home. This could indicate that the best chance at ‘rehabilitation’ of the children at
the school (and in the nation) is through inspirational peers who can lead them in the ‘right’
direction - and not through the coercion of adults. In fact, the grownups seem to take a step
back from control toward the end of the book, assuming the role of observers. They pray for
Akin’s success in reforming the other boys into ‘good citizens’, hinting at a metaphor for the
greater task of refashioning the nation in the wake of colonial rule. As the sun sets on the 74 The Pied Piper is a European story (believed to have originated from Germany) about a rat catcher who is credited with saving townspeople from a rat over-population problem by attracting the vermin with his music, leading them away and eventually drowning them (Wilkening 178). One might then question whether the use of a European folktale instead of an African one would be as useful or relevant to the Nigerian child reader, especially considering that one of Ekwensi’s priorities was to integrate aspects of African folklore into his stories as well as to encourage the connection between what is taught at school and the lived experiences of African children.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 64
final scene in the book, literally and figuratively, the Union Jack colours of red, white and
blue emerge, “the entire sky (is) transformed into a dazzling arc of red so that the white
clouds were tinged and they stood out against a red-blue sky” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 80).
One can see in the last few lines of the book the metaphor of the sun setting as the end of the
colonial period. The mood is one of hope and anticipation as the adults look to Akin to lead
the way in ‘goodness’ once the new day (independence) has dawned.
The burden of transformation that is placed on Akin’s shoulders is characteristic of the
responsibility foisted onto Nigerian children at the time. This generation was believed to
harbour the potential for attaining “great lofty heights” by building a nation “where peace
and justice reign”.75 Ekwensi indicates the role of children as citizens of the nation is
inevitable; that Akin eventually ends up at the Boy’s Forest Home despite his constant
evasion of the school is bittersweet. On the one hand, Akin will be able to overcome his
disability to a certain extent by becoming educated and ‘useful’ to his nation but, on the
other hand, he must forego his valuable freedom as a ‘wanderer’. The implication is that the
good of the nation should outweigh the good of the individual.
Becoming a ‘good citizen’ is something that Segun, too, prioritised over individual success
in her children’s books. Where her ideals of which characteristics make up a productive
member of a newly independent nation are straightforward, the morals in Ekwensi’s books
are somewhat more complicated. The author was conscious of his characters’ human flaws,
both in his adult and children’s works. Where it might seem clear-cut that characters like
Akin are ‘good’, it does not mean they are faultless. His acts of selflessness, like helping
Ayike rebuild her business, are complicated by acts of impulsiveness and presumption, as
when he calls Ayike a “miser” and hastily abandons her (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 53).
Abu Bakir (African Night’s) and Mallam Ilia (Passport) are two more examples of
characters that are not simply ‘good’. Although both men’s ultimate intentions are ‘bad’
(vengeance and murder), both Abu and Ilia are portrayed as ‘decent’ people. When Abu is
asked by a band of thieves to join them, he replies, “I cannot steal”, and when he is wrongly
imprisoned, he does not complain, but upon his release only works harder and with more
honesty – indicating a solid moral compass (Ekwensi, African Night’s 31). Mallam Ilia, too,
attempts to “always live according to the Prophet” and to do all he can “to be good, to
75These are lines from the Nigerian national anthem, composed in 1978.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 65
propagate the faith” (Ekwensi, Passport 55). He cares for his enemy’s abandoned child, and
clearly knows ‘right’ from ‘wrong’- as evidenced in his regret about leaving his pregnant
wife.
Despite their numerous acts of ‘goodness’, both Abu and Ilia are undone by their thirst for
vengeance. Through the message of the futility of vengeance, Ekwensi delivers to his young
readers the moral that it is possible for a ‘good’ person to be corrupted by ‘bad’ influences
and that evil cannot overcome evil (Emenyonu, Modern African Writers 54). This message
is particularly vital for the period in which the books were published, both politically and
historically. At a time when the nation was figuring out how to move on from colonialism,
Ekwensi’s message was not to dwell on the past or concentrate on exacting revenge, but
rather to move productively forward through “doing good… being good, and… living a
clean life” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 80).
The Role for the Female in the ‘New Nation’
Having said this, there is a female-shaped gap in Ekwensi’s drive to move the nation
forward that is disturbingly similar to the one Achebe created in his children’s literature (as
demonstrated in chapter one). It is seen in the disregard for the opinions and lives of the
female characters in both African Night’s and Passport, but is most clearly apparent in the
final few pages of Drummer Boy. In the last scene of the book, the boys of the Forest Home
gather around Akin in a symbolic scene of unity and reformation, the sun setting on
colonialism to rise on independence. The female characters, Ayike and Bisi, stand to the
side as spectators, praying for the boys’ success, indicating a potentially passive role for
women in the dawn of a ‘new’ Nigeria. Moreover, the fact that the Boy’s Forest Home is
meant solely for male juveniles paints the picture that there is no clear space for women (as
leaders or citizens) in the project of refashioning the ‘new’ nation.
However, unlike the works for children by Segun or Achebe (whose female characters
appear to have even less power than they would if they weren’t fictional), Ekwensi’s
Drummer Boy features financially independent females; characters that reflect the roles and
predicaments faced by women in society at the time. Added to the identifiableness of the
female characters for the readers (particularly the female readers), the alternating
perspective between male and female characters adds to the book’s accessibility to and
familiarity with a wide range of readers, promoting the construction of identities alongside
an awareness of gender biases.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 66
This channel of identification is, however, inaccessible in Ekwensi’s African Night’s and
Passport where women’s perspectives remain unseen and women themselves are regarded
as unimportant. The objectification and dehumanisation of the female characters in these
stories further distances the reader, leading to potentially damaging perspectives on women.
Ekwensi objectifies women from the very beginning of Mallam Ilia’s story, where the old
man tells Hassan that he was “born sixty-five years ago, at a time when a man was a man
and women were won by those who deserved them” (Ekwensi, Passport 13). He implies that
only a man who displays ‘masculine’ attributes of bravery and valour deserves the ‘prize’
that is a woman, equating the loss of this tradition with the loss of a traditional sense of
masculinity. He romanticises gallantry by stating he “prided” himself on “being a man, and
did not consider it gallant merely to ‘buy’ or ‘take on’ a wife” (Ekwensi, Passport 13). Ilia’s
objection to the changing traditions of courtship is not due to the objectification of women,
but the generational difference in what it means to be a ‘man’.
Ilia goes on to tell Hassan the story of how he comes to ‘win’ a beautiful woman named
Zarah, who’s future is casually tossed up by her father as a means of punishment for
refusing to marry his choice of suitor. Zarah’s father organises a fight to the death, the
winner of which would take home his daughter as a prize. Throughout the narrative, Zarah’s
state of mind remains unrevealed. Rather, she is portrayed on a purely physical plane; she is
“beautiful”, “truly lovely”, and has a “delicate body” (Ekwensi, Passport 23 and 27). The
other woman in the story, the mother of Usuman’s child, remains unnamed and is merely
referred to by him as “the Indian woman” (56). Her humanness is negated by the description
of her as a “beautiful creature” and the fact that she “did not look Nigerian” eroticises her
foreignness, heightening the desirability for a beauty that is not ‘typically Nigerian’ (an ideal
also echoed by Segun in My Father’s Daughter) (46. Emphasis mine).
Zainobe from African Night’s is also described in terms of her appearance. Her mother
evaluates her marital (and, because of the ‘bride price’, financial) worth by her beauty (10).
Aside from her looks, Mallam Shehu values Zainobe for her ability to provide him with a
male heir. Despite already having a number of wives, Shehu is childless and, when he is told
by a medicine man that Zainobe is the only woman who would be able to bear him a son,
Shehu is determined to “win” her away from her betrothed, Abu Bakir (8).
Shehu’s desperation to produce a male heir reinforces Nwapa’s argument that some
traditional tales promote the notion that boys are more valuable than girls (274). However, if
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 67
one follows the tale to completion, one can see Ekwensi is commenting on the futility of this
way of thinking. Mallam Shehu uses underhanded means to control his destiny and, as a
result, his child brings him great unhappiness and eventually causes his death. Ekwensi
might be implying the lives of children should be valued equally regardless of their sex, but
the apparent disregard for women in the story cannot be ignored.
The indifference to Zainobe as a woman is evident throughout the narrative. She is
constantly referred to by Mallam Shehu as “the girl”, even after he learns her name
(examples on pages 8, 11, 13 and 15 of African Night’s), and is likened on two separate
occasions to a horse and once to a donkey (African Night’s 7, 13 and 26). So ingrained is the
notion of women as ‘inhuman’ that Zainobe even objectifies herself, likening herself to a
cloth at a market place.76
By objectifying and dehumanising his female characters, Ekwensi alienates the reader from
them. Ekwensi’s homogenising and mystifying of women as ‘creatures’ that cannot be
comprehended compound this distancing. Ilia is confounded by Zarah’s moods, which he
regarded as “part of that complex nature of a woman which makes her difficult to
understand” (Ekwensi, Passport 23). His other love interest, Dije, is also described as
possessing an “air of mystery about her” that “excited (Ilia’s) imagination” (Ekwensi,
Passport 58).
As mysterious as Dije is, she still falls into the ‘role of reaffirmation’; she is sweet natured,
nurturing and “kind and gentle” and “did everything” to make her husband happy (Ekwensi,
Passport 61). Zainobe, too, follows rigid gendered roles of domesticity; helping her mother
around the house (26) and performing her duty as a wife by providing her husband with a
child, whom she protects unconditionally even after he commits patricide, falling into the
category Bicknell terms “Woman as Mother” (267)77.
Even Madam Bisi is defined by her marital success. The narrator implies that the confidence
she possesses is due in part to her “happy marriage”, “she walked slowly, and with that
dignity which befits a woman who is happily married” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 5). Yet Bisi
76 “A girl who has not been married is like a cloth in the market-place” (Ekwensi, African Night’s 24). 77 As I expanded on in my first chapter, on Achebe, Bicknell (1990) puts forth three major categories that define the role of women in Achebe’s novels. “Woman as Mother”, which portrays women as putting the needs of her family above her own, is one of these categories.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 68
is a prosperous businesswoman and, even though Ekwensi ties her self-assuredness to her
role as a wife, her husband does not feature whatsoever in the narrative. Similarly, Ayike is
the owner of a popular eating-house. She is a single, childless woman who is repeatedly
victimised and is eventually whipped within an inch of her life for refusing to marry a man
whom she does not love.
Although the stories were written primarily for children, Ekwensi does not water-down the
scenes of violence against women. In Passport, Zarah is shunted back and forth between
Usuman and Mallam Ilia until she is fatally stabbed and “the Indian woman” is viciously
attacked and kidnapped by Usuman. In African Night’s, Zainobe’s father thrashes her with a
cane and Abu Bakir threatens to flog her, stopping short only because he was “was afraid to
annoy the father of the girl by flogging her” (Ekwensi, African Night’s 24).
Unlike African Night’s and Passport, The Drummer Boy notably features women from a
first-person perspective. The narrative switches from the perspective of Madam Bisi to Akin
to Ayike and to Nurse Joe, providing a rich tapestry of viewpoints bound to capture the
interest of both the male and female reader. As I have established, the aspect of providing a
female perspective is an important point of identification for the female child-reader, but it
also provides the young male reader with an insight into a perspective he would not
ordinarily be privy to.
Ayike’s gender as a liability is brought to the forefront for a second time when she comes
across another of her attackers being tormented by a large crowd. She wants to take him to
the police, but feels helpless as “what was she to do? She was twenty miles out of Lagos; a
woman, unarmed, and not strong enough to knock him out and take him by sheer force”
(Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 75). She seeks out a policeman, but is frustrated to find the
constable on duty “did not take her word seriously” at first because he thought her attractive
and had “often made eyes at her” (Ekwensi, Drummer Boy 75). Problematically, even
though Ekwensi highlights these realities, he still delivers the underlying message that
women need men in order to be ‘happy’ and ‘safe’. He does this by implying that Ayike
could have avoided the assault if she were married and did not own a business that kept her
working until late, a message that could also discourage young girls from wanting to be
financially independent.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 69
Although the objectification of women in African Night’s and Passport are put into an
historical context by the storytelling narrative technique, one cannot ignore that the book
portrays women as ‘sub-human’ objects to be desired and discarded. The female characters
in these two books do not occupy any major roles and their perspectives remain unheard,
giving young female readers no point of identification and young male readers no insight
into the female viewpoint. By objectifying, dehumanising and distancing his female
characters, Ekwensi effectively alienates his female readership, affecting the way they see
themselves and each other as women and undermining their view of their place in society.
Through this he also potentially propagates a dangerously chauvinistic outlook in the
imaginations of his male readers, especially detrimental in light of imagining the new
nation.
Conclusion: Crosswriting and Constructive Spaces
It can therefore be seen that, although Ekwensi creates in Drummer Boy a more realistic
model of women in contemporary Nigerian society than either Segun or Achebe, providing a
stronger point of identification for the young female reader, he ultimately undermines both
his female characters and readership. Through implying that a woman’s happiness and
security is tied to marriage as well as by overlooking the role of women in the independent
nation, Ekwensi subordinates the female reader. Further psychological subordination of the
girl child-reader is propagated by the objectification, dehumanisation and distancing
(through lack of female perspective) of the women characters in African Night’s and
Passport. The potential ill effects extend to the male reader, who may internalise this
treatment of women and perpetuate it.
Yet where the narratives may sideline female readers, both sexes are allowed the space in
which to identify with what it is to be a child in an adult-dominated world. By ‘crosswriting’
his children’s books, making them appealing to both child and adult readers, Ekwensi can be
seen to open up a fertile space in which the reader can construct his or her individual
identity. Added to this is the space Ekwensi unlocks through the employment of various
perspectives in Drummer Boy, a technique that promotes greater understanding and
awareness of the points of view of the male, female, adult, child, able-bodied and disabled.
Also contributing to a sense of awareness is the emphasis Ekwensi places on different
cultures within Nigeria. The author highlights a real, shared history through the mode of
storytelling and emphasises that the many different cultures that populate Nigeria should be
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 70
respected and even celebrated. However, Ekwensi does problematically seem to imply that
European modes of thinking and education are more ‘civilised’ and ‘advanced’ than African
ones and at times he can be seen to stereotype Africans, belittling their traditions; a feature
that could detrimentally add to the already undermined national consciousness of the reader.
Having said this, Ekwensi’s main goal in his children’s literature was to provide literature
that was more relevant to the lived experiences of the Nigerian child reader at the time. In
his books, Ekwensi confronted difficult issues (not addressed by the likes of Segun or
Achebe) such as disabilities, death, violence, gender discrimination as well highlighting the
inequalities of the adult/child power relation and the complexity of human psychology. In
this way, the author made his books not only more intricate and exciting (thereby increasing
children’s’ interest in reading and promoting national literacy), but he also provided his
audience with more identifiable characters and a productive space in which readers could
construct their individual identities.
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 71
Conclusion
Changing Perspectives on Children’s Literature in Africa
The current state of children’s literature in Africa is still critically overlooked. Despite the
fundamental role the genre plays in socialisation and the development of individual and
national identity formation, the misconceptions and negative or indifferent attitudes
surrounding children’s literature remain. This is evidenced by the “abysmally poor”
response to the call for papers for the latest edition of African Literature Today dedicated to
children’s literature and storytelling in Africa (303). Surprised by the persistent lack of
interest in the topic, Emenyonu, the journal’s editor, asserts that it is time for academics and
literary critics to reconsider the “unhealthy attitudes and ludicrous misconceptions” they
hold regarding children’s literature (ALT 303). Emenyonu argues that what is lacking in
Africa is not the supply of thoughtfully crafted literature for children, but rather the attention
of academics and critics (ALT 318).
It is no secret that the production of local literature for children in Nigeria has declined since
the collapse of the publishing sector in the 1980s (Weate). However, that is not to say new
and exciting Nigerian children’s books are not currently being written. Nigerian authors, such
as Ifeoma Onyefulu and Nnedi Okorafor are providing fascinating platforms for children
living in contemporary Nigeria and the diaspora.78 These writers are relocating the epicentre
from Europe or America to Africa, providing specific historical and cultural context. They
ground their works in a Nigerian setting, whilst grappling with contemporary issues such as
migration, diaspora and “the politics of ‘home’” (Egbunike 145). Additionally, they are
encouraging their child readership to “rethink notions of normativity with regards to race,
gender, culture and characterization” (Egbunike 154). In this way, there are some
contemporary Nigerian authors who seem to be shifting the focus in children’s world 78 Where Onyefulu attempts to carry forth Achebe’s torch, re-inscribing and reviving modes of oral storytelling that might otherwise not continue, Okorafor produces works of science fiction and fantasy, opening up what Egbunike describes as a “new frontier”, writing Nigerian children into spaces they have previously been excluded from (Uko 17; Egbunike 142). Additionally, genres like science fiction and fantasy can provide an extremely productive space for readers to imagine and construct their identities and for writers to imagine alternate ways of being, helping to dispel stereotypes. It is a space, Egbunike asserts, where “normative racial, gendered or cultural constructs can be dismantled” (150).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 72
literature toward Africa, encouraging young African readers to re-conceptualize their world
and their place in it, thus promoting a shift in national consciousness and providing a flexible
base for individual identity construction. Furthermore, for their non-African readership, these
writers are promoting an awareness of culture and history and attempting to dispel harmful
stereotypes (Egbunike 154).
Yet, as Emenyonu indicates, these important shifts are going relatively unnoticed by critics
and academics. This gap in attention is especially regrettable if we take into account
Reynolds’ suggestion that children’s literature not only preserves and rejuvenates existing
genres, but becomes an “incubator for innovation”, creating entirely new kinds of writing
and producing a knock-on effect within society (19). It was with this in mind that I initially
undertook this project, which sought to shed a much-needed critical light on the role of
locally produced children’s literature in Nigeria at the time of (and up to three decades after)
independence as a prime catalyst for the rehabilitation of national consciousness in the wake
of colonial rule. By drawing together the works of Chinua Achebe, Cyprian Ekwensi and
Mabel Segun, I have illustrated the importance the authors placed on reconstructing a rooted
national identity in post-independent Nigeria. Where all three authors have a similar overall
goal of contributing to the ‘refashioning’ of the nation through their children’s literature,
each one has a unique way of approaching their aim.
My first chapter looked at how Achebe’s The Drum, How the Leopard Got His Claws, and
Chike and the River work to build a framework of traditional morality and contemporary
hybridity in order to help guide children through a transitional period ripe with potential and
rife with instability. I regarded the way in which the author pinpointed problems of “moral
decline” and alienation in Nigeria at the time, attributing them to an amnesia of an African
history predating colonialism, a history obscured and negated by the Eurocentric literature
that dominated the Nigerian readership at the time. Through the revival of traditional modes
of storytelling in his children’s literature, Achebe displayed his intention that post-
independent Nigerian children should construct their individual identities alongside a
national identity that is firmly rooted in culture and tradition. And it is in this theme of re-
educating African children on their shared, pre-colonial history that Achebe’s view of the
role of the writer as ‘teacher’ is made apparent.
Segun’s interpretation of the responsibility that children’s book authors undertake, that of
the ‘third parent’, is more obviously present in her children’s works than Achebe’s. Segun’s
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 73
direct, ‘parental’ involvement with her child readership formed the basis of my second
chapter. Segun positions the concept of ‘nation’ at the forefront of her books, encouraging
her readers to become ‘good’ citizens by emphasising the importance of unity, equality and
morality. Where her Youth Day Parade and Olu and the Broken Statue are more formulaic
attempts to imprint specific messages of national unity and the preservation of cultures and
traditions, it is her autobiographical book, My Father’s Daughter, that perhaps holds the
most potential for her messages to be successfully implanted in the minds of her young
readers. The book, not originally intended for such a young readership, offered not only a
point of identification for the child reader in the form of a realistic child protagonist, but also
an essential feminine perspective, one that could aid in the construction of the female
reader’s identity at the same time as illuminating the male child on the (frequently
overlooked) feminine point of view.
Where Segun’s perception of the role of the children’s book author is akin to a tertiary
parental figure and Achebe’s view of the writer is that of a ‘teacher’, Ekwensi takes an
entirely different stance. In my third chapter I investigated Ekwensi’s belief that writers
must, above all, provide for their readers a ‘mirror’ that accurately reflects reality. This
commitment to authenticity provides a firm point of identification with the child reader,
enabling the author to overcome the ‘impossible’ boundaries that Rose (1984) asserted
plague most books for children. The taboo subjects raised in Ekwensi’s Passport of Mallam
Ilia, An African Night’s Entertainment, and Drummer Boy, not only made the books more
relevant to Nigerian children’s lived experiences, but also encouraged in them a much-
needed interest in reading. By integrating fast-paced entertainment with current, hard-hitting
issues together with incorporating the traditional oral narrative form (seen most clearly in An
African Night’s Entertainment), Ekwensi was perhaps the most successful of the three
authors in simultaneously engaging his readers’ attention and imagination whilst educating
them on the importance of tradition and the necessity of tolerating difference, opening up a
space in which the child reader could concurrently construct both their individual and
collective national identity.
However, all three authors’ works are problematized by their neglect to address the role of
the female in the ‘refashioned’ nation. Achebe overlooks women, both fictional (characters)
and actual (readers), placing them on the periphery while he creates a space in which the
male child can construct his individual and national identity. Segun brings forth a feminine
presence in My Father’s Daughter and Youth Day Parade, potentially aiding in the identity
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 74
construction of the female reader. However, she falls short of reflecting a realistic or
inspiring image of women in contemporary Nigerian society by pigeonholing her female
characters into traditional, ‘reaffirmative’ roles. Conversely, Ekwensi portrays a more
realistic image of women at the time in The Drummer Boy, revealing their perspectives
through the gender-neutral third person, omniscient narrator. His African Night’s
Entertainment and Passport of Mallam Ilia, on the other hand, detrimentally undermine
women by objectifying and dehumanising them, potentially transmitting this disregard for
women to his child readership.
But perhaps most worrying obstruction in the way of national refashioning plaguing all three
authors’ works is the overall implication that the West is more ‘advanced’ than Africa. This
theme fundamentally undermines the authors’ intent to inspire within Nigerian children a
healthier national consciousness. Added to this is the problematic power relation between
the adult writer and the child reader, whereby the adult is in control of how and what the
child reader is exposed to, potentially limiting the space in which the child is free to
construct their individual identities, something that the authors seem to overlook in favour of
a collective national identity construction. The texts that seem to best address both
individual and national identity construction simultaneously are Segun’s My Father’s
Daughter and Ekwensi’s ‘crossover’ books that entertain a dual readership.
As I have established in the introductory chapter, children’s literature plays a fundamental
role in socialisation and increasing literacy rates. Additionally it functions as a tool in aiding
individual identity building and is inextricably linked to national identity formation. Authors
therefore need to take into account not only the educational, transformative function of
children’s literature, but also the primary role of children’s books as catalysts for identity
construction. In order to kindle the simultaneous construction of both individual and
national identity whilst also attempting to alter preconceived notions of what it is to belong
to a certain nation, it seems authors of children’s books might do well to conceptualise their
works as appealing to both adult and child readerships and experiment with alternative,
boundary-crossing genres.
Still, the issues and power relations surrounding children’s literature run deep and there
seems to be no simple solution to the complex concerns posed by the genre. Nodelman’s
(1992) proposal that perhaps it is enough for now to be conscious and spread awareness of
the pitfalls and problems embodied in children’s literature extends to my position on the
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 75
state of African children’s literature criticism today. With this contribution, I hope to
stimulate further critical attention and academic research into the field of African children’s
literature.79 The acute inattention to this essential genre needs to be made apparent in order
to not only grasp the important role children’s literature plays in individual, social and
national identity formulation, but also to further encourage the production of more
consciously constructed children’s books. In order to do this, the problem of critical and
academic dismissal of children’s literature needs to be overcome and this, according to
Sindiwe Magona, can only be done through “recognition of the problem” (173).
79 Particularly in need of notice are children’s books written in indigenous African languages, which Magona claims are “never reviewed” at all (168).
KirstenSmart NigerianChildren’sLiterature 76
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